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J. JOHNSON 

or 


“The Unknown Man.” 







THE PREACHER MADE A LUNGE AT HIM 


Page 93 





J. JOHNSON 

OR 

“The Unknown Man’’ 


An Answer to Mr. Thos. Dixon's 
“Sins of the Fathers.” 


BY 


THOS. Hf B. WALKER, 

Author of 


r 


The Presidents of Liberia, 
Bebbly, Gnostic, The Man Without 
Blemish, Etc. 


E .O.PAJNTER PRINTING CO.OE LAND. Fiyp-N* 10418 


Copyright 1915 by Thos. H. B. Walker 
All rights reserved for Moving Pictures, Dramatizing, Etc. 


AUG 14 1915 

©CI.A411057 


To 

The every lover of truth, law, and order. 
Do I dedicate this work. 


TABLE OF CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER page 

I. The Discovery i 

II. Sweeps the Boys’ Game 8 

III. Two Old Saints 12 

IV. Platting the May Pole 16 

V. Uncle Jonah 19 

Vl. At the Station 26 

VII. The Platform Meeting 30 

VIII. Doctor Jones and Rev. Slackam 40 

IX. What Jim Thought 50 

X. The Party 60 

XI. The Unknown Man 63 

XII. Toast Makers 69 

XIII. Did You Ever Shoot the Chute? 78 

XIV. The Mystery 80 

XV. Two Scenes. — The Duel 86 

XVI. The Letter 95 

XVII. Two Nervous Men 103 

XVIII. Two Temperaments Described 108 

XIX. A Hook in the Heart no 

XX. The Mysterious Fluid 116 

XXI. A Mother Found. — The Story of a Father— 121 

XXH. Filling to the Full 132 

XXHI. The Change in Love Affairs 134 

XXIV. In the Twilight 140 

XXV. The Discovery of Self 143 

XXVI. A Problem Harder Than Mathematics 146 

XXVTI. The Change of Name. — Dr. Blyden 148 

XXVHI. A Spark Through a Crevice 151 

XXIX. Jim Finds Out That He is White 154 

XXX. Doctor Jones Never Sleeps 158 

XXXI. A Ray of Hope 164 

XXXH. Uncle Jonah in New York 166 

XXXHI. Mother and Son 168 

XXXIV. A Mother Stirred 171 

XXXV. How a Kroo Boy Delivered a Cablegram 174 

XXXVI. The Girl in Pink Befriends Jim 176 

XXX VH. Cut the Wire 179 

XXXVIII. The Preparation 182 

XXXIX. The Wedding.— The Storm 184 


CHAPTER I. 


The Discovery. 

No home, no father, no mother or even sister 
or brother, was the lot of little Jirri. And 
legally speaking, in the eyes of the law, we 
might add that he had no name. 

It was a sad day in the life of this boy, when 
first the rays of sunlight streaked his brow and 
the music of nature beat upon his ear. Who 
were his parents no one knew. 

When upon the tide of time he was first 
seen floating, like the great Law Giver, in a 
basket was he, but not so fortunate as the Law 
Giver, to be among the flowers of the sea; a 
cheap five-cent basket discarded and worn, 
with rags tucked around, held the little flower 
bud that was lying at the door of an excuse 
of a house, that was inhabited by one of the 
poorest families of the town. We say family, 
but not a family, it was but the remnant, a 
June pear swinging tenaciously to the limb of 
the tree, when the fruit was all plucked, and 
the October frost and whistling wind of 


1 


2 


J. Johnson; or ^^The Unknown Man^ 


autumn had said to the leaves, “Earth to earth 
and ashes to ashes.’’ It was all that was left 
of a very happy but humble family. 

A lone widow, poor and feeble. An old 
woman, left in the world without a relative. 
Aunt Jane was her name. At her door one 
winter morning, while the ground was 
wrapped in a sheet of frost this wee babe was 
found. 

Her dark eyes rolled, and her wiry form 
stood erect, she laughed, “Ha! Hal Bless the 
Lord! Child! I wonder whose baby is you? 
Ise sho gwine ter have trouble here.” By this 
time she had him up, in her bosom, fondling, 
shaking and continuing to talk to him : “Where 
you came from sich er day like this? Little 
rascal ain’t crying er bit! Your people sure 
must be crazy or want er fling you in a coffin 
to put you here a day like this.” 

A little bed was speedily arranged in a 
rocking chair, and in this improvised nest our 
little friend found what hereafter was to be 
his home. An interesting picture they pre- 
sented around this fireside, compared with 
what it was a few minutes before. 


/. Johnson; or ^‘The Unknown MM 


3 


Days and weeks rolled by, and neighbor 
after neighbor came to see Aunt Jane and her 
new visitor; all of them, more or less, were 
equally filled with advice, but for the mush 
and milk that made up the little one’s diet, the 
merciful God only knew the hardships and 
struggles of Aunt Jane to secure it. 

After a year passed and the wee baby had 
struggled from the cradle, and was creeping 
about the house, showing a little ivory decora- ^ 
tion, cute dimpled cheeks and fat dimpled 
hands, cooing and twittering like a sparrow; 
Aunt Jane came in, seized the little one up 
into her arms, gave him the usual kiss just as 
she had a hundred times, looked into his eyes 
that showed the African and Anglo-Saxon 
mixture, and said, “Boy, Ise gwine ter sho 
name you today. Ise dunno how old you is, 
but you is been here a little over a year, so Ise 
bound ter name you today.” 

While Aunt Jane was talking to the child 
some one came up and struck the steps with a 
stick as though they would split them, and 
said, “Hey! Hey! Who lives here?” 


4 /. Johnson; or *'The Unknown Man'’ 


Aunt Jane replied, ^‘You hush dat noise, 
Jonah, come in ef you gwin ter.” 

Uncle Jonah answered, ^‘Oh, hush yer fool- 
in’, ’oman, don’ git scared, Ise jest thought to 
pester yo’ a little. How is dat child gitting 
along. You ain’t hearn nothin’ yet ’bout his 
’cestry?” 

^‘No; not a word,” said Aunt Jane. 

“Well Janie,” said Uncle Jonah, “What you 
gwine ter do wid him?” 

“Do wid him?” said Aunt Jane, “Why to- 
day Ise gwinter name him. I thought I’d call 
him Spurgeon or Beecher, and den one time I 
wanted to name him Garfield, but now — ” 

“Oh Janie,” said Uncle Jonah, “You think 
dat boy will be President? An you know dat 
niggers can’t even vote; why dey is just ’fran- 
chising the negro eber whar.” 

To this dialogue the baby paid no attention, 
he simply feasted on the music of the words 
and seemed to have been greatly delighted to 
pull Uncle Jonah’s gray mustache or poke his 
finger into the old man’s mouth. 

Uncle Jonah, like Aunt Jane, had watched 
the pickaninny grow; and while the baby could 


J. Johnson; or ^‘The Unknown Man^ 


5 


not talk yet, he could with his little eyes watch 
them ; the old folks argued, debated and loved ; 
the baby cooed, cried and loved, thus in pro- 
cess of time the three were bound together. 

Uncle Jonah continued: ‘‘Tell you, Janie, 
de way de Negro is lynched an’ pestered sorter 
’pears to me dey is agin him eber whar, yes 1 
eber whar! You think ’cause he’s kinder yal- 
ler, das hope for him? Bet you needn’t think 
dat; yaller niggers are hated as bad as any of 
dem. Dey say dey aint got no nation.” 

“Wy,” said Aunt Jane, “I knows he ain’t 
gwine ter be no President, but I thought he 
mout un be ’lowed to vote ’outen any one pes- 
terin’ ’im.” 

“Yas,” said Uncle Jonah, “Dat ar Grandpa 
Clause in de Con’tution keeps us fom it.” 

“Grand-daddy claws, what make dat dey 
don’t cut him off”? asked Aunt Jane with a 
deal of confidence and assurance in her very 
accent. 

“More’n dat,” she continued, “Who knows 
but what dis boy’s Granddaddy, both of um, 
come in dat dar — what yo call it?” 

“Oh! no!” said Uncle Jonah, “You kin see 


6 /. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man*' 


the nigger in him, fer if he is only got one drap 
of blood of my race, the whole blessed thing 
becomes nigger.” 

^^Any way,” said Aunt Jane, “Ise gwine ter 
name him, Ise gwine ter call him Jim Johnson, 
atter the great book writer.” 

Aunt Jane had heard of Ben Jonson, the 
great scholar and writer of England, and her 
husband, who was now dead, was also named 
Jim; therefore, she had this name deeply root- 
ed in her heart. She called him Jim. 

In this name she perpetuated racial love and 
predicted scholarship. Perhaps the boy might 
someday be a great scholar, and then her soul’s 
crave to see the name of her family placed 
among the great men of the earth would be 
realized. For, in the heart of every son of 
Adam, there is a something that is called by 
some, an instinct; by others, an affinity; and 
yet by the great Philosophers it is an unknown 
attribute, that throws men together and repels 
them. 

Aunt Jane was a good Christian, intensely 
religious as most colored folks are; yet she had 
a feeling to love her own; of course this love 


/. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man' 


7 


was not necessarily confined to her own people 
exclusively, as we have seen, in the case of this 
child, that no one could kiss a Bible on, as be- 
ing of Negro blood; yet, like Moses, like any 
people, when it came to hair-splitting love, the 
racial love was bound to predominate, al- 
though many have often said that the Negro 
possessed no such love. 

Now, here was a child, a bright child, an 
Octoroon ; may be a white child, but somehow 
she believed it to be of her race. If it had been 
an Indian of the forest, a Chinese from Hong 
Kong, or a Saxon of the purest blood, it would 
have made no difference with Aunt Jane; for 
in spite of all his opposition, in spite of all his 
shortcomings, in spite of all his faults and 
sins, the Negro is a Good Samaritan; he is hos- 
pitable; he will help the needy; yea, he will 
feed even the slayer of his brother and those 
who revile, maltreat and abuse him. 


CHAPTER II. 


“Sweep the Boy's Game." 

“Kill him!” “Head him off, Sam; I got 
him once on the knoggin!” “No you didn’t, 
old Spaniard, not that time!” were noises 
heard from half a dozen throats that filled the 
air. A crowd of boys were chasing a little 
bushy-headed boy of about eight or nine years ; 
his face was dirty, and like the other boys, 
easily could he have passed for white, no one 
would have thought him other if it had not 
been that one of the boys said: “Never mind, 
you nigger!” As the boy escaped his pursuers 
and entered a hut an old woman pulled him in 
and closed the door. 

She said, “Jim, what’s the matter, my boy? 
What’s those boys chasing you ’bout? I dunno 
what I’m gwine ter do wid yo ; one of des days 
Ise mighty ’fraid you’ll git hurt. You know 
you ought ter stay ’way fom dose white folks.” 

“Well, Ma Jane,” said Jim, “We boys were 
just shooting marbles and getting on fine until 
one big boy came along and shouted ‘sweeps,’ 


J. Johnson; or ^‘The Unknown Man^ 


9 


and I happened to get more of them than the 
other boys, then they started to fighting. We 
boys play together all the time, us boys, we 
do, and we never fight. Of course I wont’ go- 
ing to give my marbles away. I don’t like 
sweep stakes, but if they are going to play the 
game, every man for himself.” 

“Yes, son,” said Aunt Jane, “You donno; 
you stay by yourself and be a good boy if you 
want to go to Heaven, where you can meet 
your ma and pa.” 

“But, Ma,” said Jim, “You are the only ma 
I have, and if I get to Heaven how will I know 
my mamma? Oh, no, I ain’t got no ma but 
you, and if I go to Heaven she won’t know 
me, either.” 

“Come, son, and git your dinner, I knows 
you is hungry, fer you is sure got a bright 
head, eber body says it. Your Uncle Jonah 
was er telling me ’bout it tuther day,” said 
Aunt Jane. 

The boy wouldn’t be shut off so soon, es- 
pecially when he seemed to have the best of 
the argument, so he continued: “You know, 
Ma, the other day I was standing by the road 
and a big automobile passed me; and all at 


10 /. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man'^ 


once my hair stood straight, my skin grew 
tighty and I don’t know how I felt. It looks 
like that every time that machine and those 
people pass me, I have that same feeling.” 

Aunt Jane couldn’t answer the boy, but sim- 
ply groaned, and before she knew it a tear was 
stealing down her sainted old cheek. 

When the boy had ended his supper, he and 
Aunt Jane were seated before the fire, and 
whiled away the time until the hour arrived 
for bed. Aunt Jane was busy with the needle, 
and the boy busy with his books and toys. 

The little scrummage among the boys that 
very often took place, and many times was 
magnified by the papers, as a race war, very 
soon was forgotten. 

Day after day passed and years rolled by, 
the tender youth became the hope and inspira- 
tion of the old Saint, and the old Saint was the 
succor and hope of the child. The one’s life 
became entwined within the other. It was 
barely possible to cut one without affecting the 
other; like Mille-Christine, the twins that 
were held together by one body. One mouth 
said to the other: “When you die, how long 
will I live ?” “N ay, I can’t live, I will die also.” 


CHAPTER III. 


Two Old Saints. 

Janie, say what you will or may, but there 
is something strange about that boy. It has 
now been twelve years since he was picked up, 
and yet you know nothing.” 

^‘Yes, Jonah,” said Aunt Jane, “It is strange, 
but I have hearn of a heap uv folks in dis ole 
wurl picked up, yit dey seem to stay here an 
git along like de tuthers. Dey ain’t gotten but 
one mouth, and it kinder git somkin to eat. 
Why, take dat man, Fred Douglass; he 
couldn’t tell who his daddy was, I don’t be- 
lieve. Didn’t he live, died, and all de wurl 
had to tip dey hats to him. Nobody ’sputes dat 
“Well, what you gwinter do wid Booker 
Washington; he named hisself. I am not er 
arguing ’bout his daddy, and ain’t he sma’t? 
Why, bless your soul, he is the biggest man 
you ever seed. Ain’t no white people kin beat 
him in dat ’dustrial education.” 

“But Jane,” said Uncle Jonah, “Have you 
ever think ’bout dat boy?” 


2 


11 


12 /. Johnson; or ”The Unknown Man'' 


“Yes,” said Aunt Jane. “I know one thing 
he has sho brought good luck to dis house, and 
the good Master protects me as never before. 
He sho’ opens de window of Heaven.” 

Uncle Jonah said, “I don’t mean dat; bet 
dat boy was picked up, as a naked bird thrown 
from its nest! Janie, I am an old grey haired 
man, stung by the frost of seventy-five Decem- 
ber morns, but I says again — dar am somethin’ 
’bout dat boy ’spicious. When I was a boy I 
saw a featherless bird; yea, a naked little bird, 
you got me? Fall fom its nest dat wuz hidden 
in de bough and secured fom the winds and 
dews of Heaven. I saw it fall, and as it fell, 
hitting limb after limb, bush after bush, 
screaming, chirping, aye, gurgling. Oh! it 
was dying. The blood was creeping fom its 
legs — its wings seemed broken, and its back 
looked like a beef. Janie, you ought to have 
hearn its screams. It would have made a hang- 
man cry and a demon weep. Did the mother 
leave it? No! She floundered beneath it; she 
fluttered about it, and when I went dat I 
mought take it outen de sand, the ole bird 
fought me; she picked me; she left me not ’till 


J. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man^ 


13 


I had nested the leetle one back, safe into its 
hiding.” 

“Well,” said Aunt Jane, “What ’bout it?” 
^ “Why, ’oman,” said Uncle Jonah, “We are 
mortal, and how kin a mother lay its little one 
out, on a frosty morning, to weep, to cry, to 
suffer; yea! to die? If dere be a God who 
shall judge the wurld, Janie, do you believe 
such an one as dat shall ever see his face in 
peace? Jane, shall not the Jedge of all the 
earth do right? De Good Book sez — ” 

“Ah! Jonah,” said Aunt Jane. 

Then for about ten minutes they were both 
lost in thought and not either said a word. 
The two old sainted philosophers were trying 
to solve a problem that had baffled sociologists 
and humanitarians and scholars from the days 
that Cyrus was found, down to the present. 
Yet unsolved it remained. 

Kingdoms and Empires rose and fell ; years 
roll by; nations, like men, grow old and die; 
history changes; science advances, but this 
problem ever remains. Here is a boy who 
will soon bud into the beautiful life of man- 
hood; who will stand upon the college plat- 


14 /. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man^^ 


form and deliver the Valedictory of his class, 
enter the world and, like other fellow students, 
speak of his Alma Mater. But who knows 
the yearnings of his heart? Who knows the 
dreams that come to him in the night times, 
as upon his bed he rests his weary head, and 
in his sleep climbs the golden stairs? No 
mother knew he, that had ever kissed his lips 
or father said “my son.’’ There he was, a lone 
pine, born in the ocean expanse of sandy desert, 
and although scorching sand and burning 
winds swept on into one eternal day; yet it re- 
mained. Where did it come from? How 
did it get there? No one seemed to know. 
Not indigenous to the clime, yet it lived ; when 
there was no oasis to shade and water its roots, 
it caught the dews of Heaven, it dropped its 
own leaves and made a shade. 

Uncle Jonah ended his visit and returned 
home. The days rolled by as usual. 

The boy fast sprouted into a large youth 
while the dame rumor nodded but never slept. 

Kind friends made it possible for Aunt Jane 
to find work. And evenings on Jim’s return 
from school he washed, ironed, gathered wood 


/. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man” 


15 


and did whatever his hands found to do. The 
people admired him and the community often 
buzzed with gossip that: “We don’t know 
whether he is white or colored, but he certain- 
ly is thrifty.” A few other children would 
sometimes join him in his work. And at school 
allow him to share their lunch. Prominently 
among these was a little dark girl called Susie 
Smith. Susie’s father was dead, and so she 
and her widowed mother lived alone to- 
gether. Yet her mother was young and proud 
and possessed a neat home and had a few 
thousand dollars in the bank from which she 
could draw whenever the income from her 
poultry farm and garden failed to cover the 
weekly expenditure. Susie and Jim were the 
star pupils of the little town and often con- 
tested for the place at the head in the spelling 
row. Jim was Susie’s senior by two years, but 
they were both in the same grade. 


CHAPTER IV. 


Platting The May Pole. 

One day in May when the school met for the 
final close, six boys and girls were selected to 
plait the pole. Three beautiful girls and three 
fine robust boys. One of the boys seemed to 
be the favorite of all. The girls called him 
Jimmie; the boys called him Jim. The day 
before that, he had led the class in arithmetic 
and saved the day in spelling. Problem after 
problem the town folks and wise old farmers 
threw at the scholars but never failed Jim to 
work every one. Sometimes jokers, sometimes 
catch problems, but seriously, quickly, and 
manly, worked he every one. An example like 
this one time tripped the whole school. “If 
two trains were traveling the same day in op- 
posite directions, one starting three hours 
ahead of the other and had gone 120 miles, 
traveling at the rate of 40 miles an hour and 
the other was making 70 miles, where would 
they meet on the road, and how far would 
each one have traveled? Jim worked it 


/. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man' 


17 


and not only won a smile from Aunt Jane and 
Uncle Jonah, but likewise won the heartfelt 
thanks of the teacher, for no teacher likes to 
see his school fail. 

Uncle Jonah gave one: “Suppose a man 
had twenty sick sheep and one died, how many 
would be left?” 

Many of the children said, “Why, 25; for 
one from 26 always leaves 25.” But he couldn’t 
catch Jim, he politely said that 19 would be 
left. 

Now the word and book battle was over and 
the gods of the feast had to be fed. Every per- 
son attending had a basket. Chicken, little 
shoats, cakes, pies, and gingerbread formed 
the bill of fare. 

The crowning event before the feast was 
to plait the May Pole, and the speeches and 
dialogues came next with the crowning of the 
May Queen and King as the last event before 
the meal. Little Susan Smith was the queen 
and our friend Jim was the king. The 
scholars making the highest marks were se- 
lected. Hence the pupils leading the school 
in the general averages were Susie and Jim. 


i8 /. Johnson; or *‘The Unknown Man' 


And to these no greater joy could have come 
than to be king and queen. 

When dinner began, Uncle Jonah threw the 
crowd into convulsions of laughter as he 
looked at Aunt Jane and winked and said: 
“Janie, you ’member foe de war when we plait 
a pole; you wuz queen and I wuz king and 
old Jim got so mad. I thought I mought have 
been king right on, but Janie always liked big 
men, so Jim won de day, and here I is, wid my 
fuss shoes standing right on de carpet.” 

The Professor broke in, “Uncle Jonah, you 
have sorter given her up now, haven’t you?” 

“Oh no, sir!” said Uncle Jonah. “Never 
too late for a raccoon to wear a pleated bosom 
shirt.” 


CHAPTER V. 


Who Uncle Jonah Was. 

By the glowing fire coals one night, near a 
fire hearth, sat little Jim and Aunt Jane. They 
were talking as usual; the boy, like all boys, 
since Cain stood questioning Adam, down to 
the present, was right there seeking informa- 
tion and sometimes his question were hard to 
answer. 

“Ma,” said Jim, “How long have you 
known Uncle Jonah?” 

“Oh, ’bouten sixty-odd years, I think, if Ise 
not mistaken,” said Aunt Jane. 

“Why, Ma, thatwas before the war,” said Jim. 

Aunt Jane: “Yes, my son, when the war 
broke out in i86i. Uncle Jonah was a full- 
grown man. He isn’t old as I is, but he was 
grown. He was one of the men who was car- 
ried from South Ca’lina wid de men who went 
to Kansas to fight de free soilers. He was 
de cook. 

“Free soilers,” said Jim, “What do you 
mean by free soilers?” 


19 


20 /. Johnson; or “The Unknozvn Man^^ 


“Wy,” said Aunt Jane, “A free soiler wuz a 
man who believes eber body dat lives is free 
born, and outen dar, dey want to make dat 
country free jist like de North. Well, a lot 
of dem wanted to keep it in slavery, so de people 
from Alabama and Ca’lina sent soldiers dar 
to keep ’em slave. As I wuz telling you, Jonah 
was carried dar as cook, but dere wuz a man 
out dere, a mighty good man named John; 
well, you know de Bible talk about a man 
named John. Dis one wuz called John 
Brown.” 

“Oh yes, Ma,” said Jim, “I know about him. 
We sing about him in school, you know.” And 
Jim sang, and the old Saint hummed also : 

They hung John Brown to a sour apple tree, 
They hung John Brown to a sour apple tree, 
They hung John Brown to a sour apple tree. 

But his soul is marching on. 

CHORUS: 

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! 

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! 

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! 

His soul is marching on. 


/. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man' 


21 


^‘Ma, he was the best man I ever read about, 
if it had not been for him we all would have 
been slaves today.” 

“Well,” said Aunt Jane, “As I was telling 
you, dis man wuz sent from God to free the 
cullud folks, and de soldiers went dar to stop 
him and make dat country slave. Jonah, I 
says, wuz cook, but Jonah wuz ha’dly over 
de long ribber ’fo he brake loose and ’scape 
fer freedom.” 

Jim interrupted: “They couldn’t catch 
him?” 

Aunt Jane: “Yes, son; dey tried, but Jonah 
could outrun a rabbit. De patrols run ’im 
wid hounds, but Jonah got in a lake and 
laughed, ‘ha I ha!’ atter dem.” Aunt Jane 
laughed and continued: 

“You ought to seed ole Jonah grab de dog 
an souse him under de water an de dog got 
out er yelping and he drowned one. An’ you 
know, Jonah wuz a reg’lar die dapper; he jist 
git right under de water and crawl like he 
wuz ’pon land; den he ’scape to John Brown 
an’ stay wid him. Wherever John Brown go, 
Jonah go.” 


22 /. Johnson; or ‘‘The Unknown Man' 


“Well, Ma,” Jim said, “I read where they 
hung John Brown about something he did at 
Harper’s Ferry.” 

“Yes; dey did,” said Aunt Jane, “But dey 
didn’t hang Jonah, you know. John Brown, 
Jonah, and a heap of um, went dar and take 
de guns and powder an put in, gwinter free 
we cullud folks. But dey wuz pow’ful weak 
tc fight so many, an’ some gotten away and 
some wuz ’rested. John Brown, who had some 
uv his boys killed already, sez: ‘I ain’t gwine 
ter run no whar; God will fight a righteous 
cause.’ Well, Jonah run, as you see, my son. 
Brown is in Heaven, and Jonah is right here.” 

“Ma,” said Jim, “Uncle Jonah certainly 
knows something!” 

“Yes,” said Aunt Jane, “Jonah certainly is 
lucky; he must be born wid a cod on his eyes 
or ca’y graveyard dirt one, fer he shore is 
lucky. You know, son, dat man came fom 
Afreka. Such a man lak dat aint born in 
’Merika. You see him so, all des white folks 
and cullud folks say he is the truthfuldist and 
’ligidest man you ever seed. An’ boy, people 
now days ain’t born like dat.” 


J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


23 


“Well, ma,” said Jim, “Uncle Jonah must 
have seen Lincoln.” 

“Yes, boy;” said Aunt Jane, “Ise hearn him 
speak ’bout Lincumb time an’ ’gin. Jonah sez 
he neber seed a man so ligidist looking in all 
his life. He sez one day he went wid John 
Brown to see Lincumb ’bout freeing cullud 
folks. Lincumb thought it de thing ter do, 
but ’nother man, Lincumb’s friends,” ha! ha! 
laughed Aunt Jane, “sez, hf you free de nig- 
gers dey will all starve in a year.’ Lincumb, 
you know, wuz a tall bony man, an’ as sharp 
as er blessed needle, he draws hisself up, pops 
his fingers and sez, ‘I guess we do like er man 
in Illinois; he plant er tator patch and had 
er lot of hogs, but him wuz too lazy to dig 
de tatoes; so he goes an’ turns de hogs on de 
tatoes. A man comes along and ’lowed. Friend, 
don’t you know when de winter comes, de 
ground will froze and de hogs can’t root no 
’tatoes? Well, sez he to de other man, he will 
hab to root hog or die.’ 

“Oh, boy! you wants to git ’formation ’bout 
de war, you ought to hear Jonah talk ’bout it. 


24 /. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man' 


He is a regular ’pedia. He ain’t got no book 
laming, but he sho’ is edecated.” 

When the platting of the May Pole became 
a thing of history and a few more summers 
rolled by, a sad incident crept into the life 
of Aunt Jane. She had never before, from 
the first day that little Jim was placed at her 
door, considered a time of parting. 

These two friends, who for many years had 
cheered each other around the fireside, Jim 
and Aunt J ane, must part. Aunt J ane, by close 
saving, had laid aside a few pennies that 
proved sufficient to put Jim for a year or two 
in a far-off university. The old Saint knew 
not one school from another, but a kind teach- 
er, when Jim had finished his academic course, 
advised him about two schools, Nashville and 
Boston. Jim preferred Nashville, but the 
teacher, Boston. Jim also reasoned that while 
Nashville was planted in the South and the 
summer hung around almost the whole year, 
Boston for refinement was almost a college in 
itself and to mingle among its people was like 
placing two years work into one. 

Jim went off to school and his progress 


J. Johnson; or ‘^The Unknown Man^ 


25 


was what all his friends predicted. Aunt Jane 
soon became accustomed to being alone and 
Susie and Uncle Jonah appeared to feel the 
sting of his absence almost as much as his 
foster mother. 

A new doctor came to Bowser, and the old 
town that never had anything to liven it, but 
public gossip, except sometimes a funeral or 
marriage or when a wandering minstrel or 
circus visited its cross ways, moved on in the 
even tenor of its ways. 


CHAPTER VI. 


At The Station. 

One warm day in June, when all nature was 
contriving to make old Bowser a duplicate of 
Eden, as the bees hummed, the honeysuckles 
waved, the peaches looked red on the trees, 
the blackberries waved their hands on every 
hill top and from every fence corner, the vio- 
lets bloomed in every dale and fragrance filled 
the air; three people, while the dew yet stood 
on the roses and like diamonds sparkled from 
the eaves of the houses, stood at the station to 
meet the early train. 

One was a feeble old woman, bent by the 
weight of ninety-odd years, wiry form, grey 
haired, sharp voiced, tenaciously holding on to 
life. Some hope, like a spark, moved in her 
breast and kept life burning, for you know 
we only die when there is nothing to live for. 
She hoped, she prayed, she worked, therefore 
she lived. 

The other was a young woman in the bloom 
of life, a girl of but twenty summers, a blush- 


26 


J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Mxm' 


27 


ing, rosy-cheeked, curling-lipped, ivory-teethed 
young woman. I would say a rose of the 
spring just unfurling its leaves to send out 
sweetness to conjure the humming birds and 
draw the bees. But you would say my descrip- 
tion is far-fetched. Dressed plainly and sim- 
ply, head erect and upon throwing it back she 
looked like a queen. She was there; there 
like the others watching and waiting with a 
spark in her breast that glowed through her 
beautiful dark eyes, whenever a certain name 
was mentioned. 

Then we must not forget the third person; 
you know him well — the old sage from the 
dark continent who had been crushed by the 
demon slavery, but when they looked for him 
to be mashed and destroyed, he came forth a 
shining coal; he was ground in the mill of 
hardship, but instead of being destroyed, came 
forth as a diamond that sparkled in the sun- 
light of a new era. There he was, grey head- 
ed but yet youthful; he was a man who 
laughed at hardships and through impedi- 
ments marched on to victory. When he was 
down and you thought hope had mouldered 


3 


28 /. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man^ 


away into ashes, he had but one answer, “It’s 
never too late for a raccoon to wear a pleated 
bosom shirt.” 

You know the three. Who could they be? 
None other than Aunt Jane, Susan Smith and 
Uncle Jonah. 

The train arrived and a rapid step- 
ping, curly headed, athletic young fellow with 
sachel in hand, football under arm, leaped 
from the car. The four sunshines met and 
melted into one. The words of none we record 
save those of Uncle Jonah: “Boy, we shore is 
glad to see you; Janie been cooking all day 
yesterday for you. She’s got a powerful lot of 
good things fer you. I dunno who’s been 
studying most ’bout you, Susan or Janie. I 
sorter git jealous one time, case Ise ur right 
here standing on the carpet yit, and nobody 
ever study ’bout me.” 

“Uncle Jonah,” said Jim, “You know it took 
a seven days’ march around Jericho before it 
fell ; but suppose they had stopped on the fifth 
day or the sixth or even six and a half?” 

“Janie! Susan! You heard dat? Dat boy 
talks like a preacher, but he’s hit de nail right 


/. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man' 


29 


on de head. Dar is a young gal roun’ here I 
courted ’fore de war, an’ fuss thing you know 
she gwinter fall my way. Boy, Ise see de rac- 
coon a putting on the pleated bosom shirt.” 

A few hours passed and the four souls were 
sitting around the table in the little old cabin 
where twenty years before a wee babe had 
been picked up from the step one cold winter 
morning. 

Jim drew up and pushed back his hair, the 
other three gazed out the window as a big 
automobile with its curtains down making 
twenty miles an hour rolled by. 


CHAPTER VIL 


Enemies at the Top. — The Platform 
Meeting. 

The rushing crowd that thronged the Cal- 
vary Church that Sabbath at Bowser town was 
far greater than what it was for many a day. 
A few leading white people occupied rear 
seats on one side, and colored people crowded 
everywhere until every available space was 
taken, even the altar, and around the platform 
was used as seats. Among those who filed in 
were the preacher and doctor. They pushed 
through the crowd looking right and left, gaz- 
ing at the audience and finally found their 
seats on the platform. The preacher seemed 
a bit stung and winced; the doctor was in 
harmony with him, and said: ^‘Yes, people 
always make a deal of fuss over nothing.” 

“Yes,” said the preacher, “They have gath- 
ered here to hear that boy, as though he was 
some great something. I’m glad of one thing, 
I have to introduce him. I think I can scratch 
a little of the peeling off the rind.” 


30 


/. Johnson; or *‘The Unknown Man^ 


“Oh, watch your friend a little, too,” said 
the physician. “I am coming behind him and 
the pill I will give will prove a physic that 
will stir the molecular system.” 

The preacher was one of those misfits in 
nature who possessed an over charge of en- 
thusiasm that he sometimes mistook for the 
working of the spirit. He was a pretty good 
parrot, who rattled off Spurgeon, Wesley and 
Talmage’s sermons verbatim et literatim, and 
did it with so much ease that he very often 
deceived the ignorant and made the simple be- 
lieve that he was a great scholar. One time 
he gathered the fragments of many old Christ- 
mas plays together, gave a concert and dubbed 
himself as the author. He wrote not a jot of 
the music nor line of the poetry. Yet he un- 
derscored the play with his signature and told 
the folks that he wrote the Cantata ; he was a 
base liar and a man that possessed hatred for 
anybody that was his superior. Such people 
are found all through life, but it looks as 
though the largest number is found in the pul- 
pit. 

The doctor was not so prejudiced, yet his 


32 J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


profession, as he thought, possessed certain 
qualities that lifted him so far above the rab- 
ble, as he dubbed humanity, that there were 
courtesies belonging to him, quite different 
from the other sons of Adam. He and the 
preacher were associated, hence one had a bad 
case of the malady called egotism and the other 
had contracted the disease from him. As the 
minister took his seat at the side of the doctor, 
he remarked: “I see that the great lord of the 
town ain’t here yet.” 

“No,” said the doctor. 

“Guess he will be escorting Miss Susie out, 
the belle of the town, as she and all the other 
girls are so crazy about him,” said the preach- 
er. 

“I guess so,” said the doctor. “Or some 
other belle. I tell you I haven’t much faith in 
these football and baseball dandies.” 

“Neither have I,” answered the preacher, 
“But it looks like all the world is gone wild 
over them.” 

While the preacher and doctor were whis- 
pering, a rustle went through the whole house 
and the congregation, like one man, gave an 


/. Johnson; or ‘‘The Unknown Man^ 


33 


applause that vibrated the walls and shook the 
ceiling. The giant had appeared, the people’s 
favorite was entering the door; it was Jim, 
Aunt Jane was leaning on his arm. Uncle 
Jonah, with stick in hand, was hobbling on 
behind. Jim looked solemn, but Aunt Jane, 
dear old woman as she was, knocking close on 
to a hundred, looked angelic, the grey hairs 
adorned her temple and her face was lit up 
with a smile. Uncle Jonah came grinning 
down the aisle and one of the devilish boys 
whispered to another: “It’s never too late for 
a raccoon to wear a pleated bosom shirt.” 

They took their seats that were reserved on 
the front and Jim took a chair between the 
preacher and doctor. Both of them extended 
their hands in the most cordial manner. It 
was now fifteen minutes before the program 
was to begin, but the house was filled to an 
overflow. Uncle Jonah whispered to Aunt 
Jane and said: “Janie, I ain’t seed dis house 
so full of people but twice ’fo dis. One time 
was when Fred Douglass spoke and de time 
when Bishop Turner preached here about 
Africa.” 


34 Johnson: or '‘The Unknown Man'' 


An opening of the crowd again in the aisles 
was made, and Miss Susie Smith passed to the 
platform. The preacher coughed, the doctor 
cleared his throat, and Jim crossed his legs. 
Someone in the congregation said, “She is a 
queen yet, but out of those three fellows on 
the platform side by side, and all of them 
reaching for her hand, it’s hard to tell who will 
be king.” 

The other said, “Preachers are right hard to 
beat, and doctors are as proud as peacocks, and 
girls like that.” 

“Ah,” said the first speaker, “If Madam 
Rumor has it right, women have gone wild 
over baseball and football players, and they 
tell me that she met him (referring to Jim) at 
the train the other day.” 

“ ‘Get you gone, Ely,’ our professor used to 
say, ‘Jim’s at the bat,” said the other. 

The Program — Jim's Speech. 

After a song and prayer. Miss Smith was 
introduced and she sang, “Does Jesus Care?” 
which seemed to so thrill the audience that 
numbers of persons wept. Great tears rolled 


J, Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man” 35 


down the cheeks of Aunt Jane, and Uncle 
Jonah cleared his throat to keep from crying. 

The song sank deep into the hearts of all; 
even the big three found water settling in the 
corner of their eyes. The preacher, in a soph- 
omore style, introduced the speaker. He 
rattled off some old introductory speech that 
seemed quite bookish ; no doubt something that 
had been used by an old learned Senator or 
College President, for many of the words he 
mouthed and others he cut in half. One fellow 
said : “That preacher is the most exacted man 
I ever saw to take pains to commit errors.” 
When the preacher ended the bookish dope, 
he remembered his promise to the doctor, so 
he added, “Ladies and gentlemen, the gentle- 
man I present to you was picked up at a door 
some twenty years ago. He does not know his 
mother nor his father, but you can see the 
Cracker in him. He has just returned from 
high school; next year he tells me he will 
graduate. We have him today as one of our 
speakers; I now present him to you.” 

Jim arose, and with all the politeness of a 
diplomat, and the grace of an actor, began by 


36 /. Johnson; or ‘'The Unknown Man'' 


saying: “Ladies and Gentlemen, I speak to 
you today on ‘The Future of the Negro in 
America.’ 

“The Negro, as you know, was brought to 
this country in 1619 on the slave ship ‘Jesus.’ 
He was sold into slavery; he was placed in 
the toil, but to his credit let it be said, that he 
is the only race that has been able to look the 
blue-eyed Anglo-Saxon in the face and live.” 

The speech was moderately long and was 
fairly warm, but it was more on the order of 
the cold New England reasoning. Near the 
close he pushed the college veneering back and 
the hot blood that used to boil in the veins of 
C. N. Grandison and Henry W. Grady be- 
came turbulent. He said: “I can see them, the 
sons of all nations on the stage playing the 
world’s drama; the Indian is there, he says his 
speech; yea, this child of the forest; the crowd 
applause ; he takes his seat, then the Mongoli- 
an chin, chin, Chinese walks forth. He tells 
of a civilization that existed long before the 
Christ was rocked in the manger; a civiliza- 
tion that at one time lead the world and today 
is yet to be unraveled. He made his bow, he 


/. Johnson; or ‘'The Unknown Man' 


37 


took his seat; the people applauded; the fifes 
whistled, the drums rolled, the music sounded. 
The white man, the world’s conqueror, ap- 
peared ; his blue eyes shot fire, his bony fingers 
caught the wind and bound the lightning — 
he budded out wings, mounted the air, flew 
above the clouds; he walked the bottom of 
the sea and felt the heart of the earth. He 
made the desert to blossom, pitched railroads 
over the mighty valleys ; climbed the highest 
mountain. When the white man ended his 
part, the curtains dropped; the people arose to 
go, but the stage manager waved his hand 
and said, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen: Not yet, we 
are only changing the scenery; the show is not 
over, there is another act — the last act.’ The 
music sounded, the drums rolled, the people 
waited and finally the actor appeared — a curly 
headed chocolate drop. His words were oil; 
his rule was great, he bridged the clouds in 
his splendor and held the wind in his fist; the 
five continents under his sway became a com- 
mon fireside and all men worshiped at one 
altar. Angels communed with men and a man 
was a child a hundred years old; travel was 


38 /. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


reduced to such a system that many could 
breakfast in New York and dine in London, 
three thousand miles away. This man ruled as 
no man had ever ruled, and under his reign 
Heaven and earth were married and the New 
Jerusalem was born. By the science and the in- 
ventions of his mighty schools, sickness was 
banished ; the doctors became boot-blacks ; sin 
was destroyed and the preachers lost their jobs 
and became ditch-diggers. The people, ex- 
cited, leaped to their feet, shouted and 
screamed, but the orator continued. When he 
ended his speech the Indian, the Chinese, the 
Saxon and the African shook hands and with 
one voice said, ^Strife today is forever dead 
and the whole world is kin.’ ” 

At the conclusion of Jim’s speech for five 
minutes the house thundered with applause. 
While Jim was speaking the doctor bit his lips, 
the preacher turned ashy and Aunt Jane was 
too full of joy to weep and Uncle Jonah came 
near standing once or twice. The doctor was 
then introduced and made a strong effort to 
speak, but the tide of eloquence by the college 
student had so impressed the people that they 


J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man" 


39 


said one and all, ^^Enough for today. Let us 
go home and we will hear thee another day.’’ 

The doctor was very soon so impressed, 
therefore he took his seat with an air of disap- 
pointment on his face. Jim won for himself 
that day the praise of the town. Susan loved 
him as never before, she saw in him not the 
qualities of the little Jimmy that years before 
led the spelling bees, but rather a giant brain 
that used the English language to convey his 
meaning and that he was such a master of it 
that people bent forward to catch every word 
else perchance one might slip. No pen can 
express the feeling of Uncle Jonah or Aunt 
Jane. 

That day Jim made two enemies, who be- 
came more bitter when they saw the next 
day the daily paper filled with a column and 
a half of the lecture prefaced by daring head- 
lines setting forth the most emphatic parts. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


The Doctor and Preacher. 

The preacher ended his sermon that night 
a trifle earlier than usual to the delight of the 
congregation. Previously he spent many mo- 
ments around shaking hands with the choir 
and others, but that night he hurried out the 
side door and in a very few minutes was seated 
by a glowing fire, watching the coals, while 
his thoughts battled with expectation and an- 
ticipations of the unknown road that we some- 
times call the future. While he was in this 
daze, a rap was heard on the door. Without 
looking up or turning around he knew the 
stroke, so he shouted, ‘^Come in. Doc,” and 
as the doctor entered he stood to greet him. 

^Well, how is it now?” asked the doctor. 

^^Oh!” said the preacher, ‘T was thinking 
about that molecular stir of yours.” 

“Oh no, fellow, I never like for one to say 
I have the odor of the candle, when they are 
smelling of the wick,” answered the doctor. 

“What is he?” asked the preacher. 


40 


J. Johnson; or ‘‘The Unknown Man' 


41 


^‘You think he is colored? What is he?” 

“I don’t know.” 

The preacher said: ^Well I tell you that 
fellow did some talking. Why, he has the 
brain of a Goliath and his language is perfect.” 

‘Wes; I knew that there was quite a rustle 
about him, but it did not once occur to me that 
he was an orator. Have you heard what he 
intends doing. Do you suppose he is contem- 
plating preaching, entering law, or practic- 
ing?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t think he would do 
much at practicing,” said the physician. “He 
has not the airs, and trim manners of a physi- 
cian. I was thinking he would make an ex- 
cellent preacher. What do you think about 
it?” 

“No, sir;” said the preacher. “He is not 
spiritual enough. You know that calling re- 
quires a man deeply spiritual.” The doctor, 
thinking about his friend’s gifts made no re- 
ply, but simply coughed. “Now,” continued 
the preacher, “You know that’s where most 
men make a mistake, they do not count the 
cost before entering upon the highest of all 


42 J. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man' 


callings. Now, you know if I had not been 
a man of ability, I would never have made 
the impression in that introduction that I did.” 

The Doctor coughed again. ^Why, I saw 
a ripple sweep the whole house while I was 
talking and you know I told you that I would 
peel the rind.” 

^‘Yes,” said the doctor, “But have you 
thought how that fellow struck back at us? He 
said preachers would become boot-blacks and 
doctors ditch diggers when the world reaches 
its high civilization. And did you notice how 
old Jonah looked? It seemed as though he 
was glad, then the whole house applauded.” 

“Yes,” said the preacher, “But the Bible 
disagrees with him, for it says before the end 
of time they would become Vickeder.’ ” 

“I thought that it was weaker,” said the doc- 
tor. 

“Yes, I think it says both, although my 
memory is a little dull,” replied the preacher. 

“Yes,” remarked the doctor, “I guess 
preachers are like men of my profession; they 
sometimes make grave mistakes. Take the 
^bug theory’ of spreading disease. We used 


J. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man^ 


43 


to have an old professor who said that he did 
not believe a word of it, and he also believed 
very little in the knife. He only resorted to it 
as a finale.” 

“I didn’t know,” said the preacher, ‘‘That 
you fellows would ever admit the truth, but I 
guess I will have to say that you are an excep- 
tion ; in fact I have been watching you since 
the first day I arrived here two years ago. Say, 
what do you think about Doctor Boston? I 
notice crowds are always around his office and 
sometimes he is as drunk as a bed bug, yet 
they pass by good doctors and wait there until 
he sobers up, help to dress him; pay for a pre- 
scription and take the medicine with more con- 
fidence than they do that from the best doctors 
in town.” 

“It is not so,” replied the doctor. 

“But I know that it is,” said the preacher. 
“For I have seen them hanging around by the 
dozen, when well dressed doctors with fine 
offices went for hours with nothing to do.” 

“Well, I deny it emphatically,” said the doc- 
tor, getting angry. “The Bible says if a man 
tells a lie, tell him of it.” 


4 


44 J- Johnson; or ^‘The Unknown Man' 


The preacher rose to his feet. “You don’t 
mean to call me a liar in my own house?” 

“That is what I said,” said the doctor. 

“You are the cheapest man I ever saw,” re- 
marked the preacher. 

“I think not,” said the doctor, “But you are 
deceived. You are, I repeat it,” said the doc- 
tor, drawing nearer to the preacher and speak- 
ing in a lower tone. “That old drunkard ; that 
old drug-fiend, I say that old scally-wag is 
the best doctor in town. I had rather take his 
opinion on a case than all the dandies in the 
city. I have seen the doctors in town; 
yes, white and black, hanging about him 
the darkest hour in the night to get 
an opinion. I have seen precarious cases 
given up by all the high-priced doc- 
tors in town; I have seen that old wreck of 
humanity, that drunken doctor, go in and 
bring them to life.” The preacher could not 
do anything but shake his head — his speech 
seemed gone. When he did speak, remarked : 

“I have seen the same thing in the pulpit. 
I remember the first church that I served, I 
was right from the seminary and a bit starchy.” 


J, Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man^ 


45 


bit starchy yet,” said the doctor. 

^‘And an old tramp, as I thought, came to 
town. He was there a week before I met him 
and I positively was told that he was drunk 
the whole time. Well, another preacher comes 
there and raises a denominational strife and 
scoops in half of my members. The old fel- 
low, drunk as he was, comes around and offers 
to help me. His clothes were in rags, his hat 
yellow with age. I didn’t know what to do, 
yet I certainly needed help. In the meantime 
I had wired my Presiding Elder to come im- 
mediately. I told my friend I would thank 
him much to come back to dinner, yet I was 
not decided as to my action in the matter of 
the church work. The Presiding Elder ar- 
rived before dinner and while I intended tell- 
ing him about it, it slipped me, while we were 
getting ready for dinner. Who comes in but 
this old ragged preacher. I saw him first 
and was a little nervous at what to do, but the 
Elder saw him, jumped up and ran to meet 
him and greeted him most cordially. On re- 
turning to me he said, ‘God is with us, we 
have the man. I thought he was dead. Have 


46 /. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man’ 


not seen him for years, but we will make him 
preach tonight’ I could not quite understand 
it ‘Oh yes,’ said the Elder, ‘We are lucky, we 
will make him preach tonight’ When I got 
an opportunity, as you know me, you see that 
I am a straight man. I asked the Elder, ‘Do 
you have that old fellow preach tonight?’ 
‘Oh yes,’ the Presiding Elder said. ‘I will 
have him preach, and you rush the news 
around as rapidly as possible.’ I could not 
understand even myself, but I reasoned that if 
the Elder said it, let it be. 

“Did you let him preach and knew that he 
had been drinking?” asked the doctor. 

“Yes,” said the preacher, “And more than 
that, he told the Elder that he was sick and 
that he knew nothing that would help him so 
much as a pint of corn to get ready for the 
service. He stated that he had been taking the 
Keeley cure for drink habit, thought he was 
well ; did not take a drop for three years and 
all at once he became crazy for it; had to have 
it. Had been turned out of the church sev- 
eral times, but, thank God, he was making a 
confession, and that he believed that pardon 
was his.” 


/. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man' 


47 


“How did he come out?” responded the 
doctor. 

“Why, man,” said the preacher, “He en- 
tered the church that night on the Presiding 
Elder’s arm and took for his text: When I 
was a child, I thought as a child, but when 
I became a man, I put down childish 
things.” He preached the people wild. They 
shouted, they screamed, they cried. I never 
saw a mortal man preach like that man. You 
know, he took every member back and a third 
of the other fellow’s members. For one hour 
and a half I thought I was on the mountain of 
transfiguration.” 

“Did he make you cry?” asked the doctor. 

^"Yes. I think that everybody must have been 
crying then.” 

“Doctor,” said the preacher, “What about 
that fellow Jim? You know he has these peo- 
ple fooled.” 

“Yes,” said the physician, “But I know a 
few things now. I heard that his mother is 
serving a life sentence for shooting his daddy, 
and that when he was born they brought him 
to that door to lose all identity of his mother.” 


48 J. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man' 


“Ah,” said the preacher, “Were they white 
or colored?” 

“Now that matter I haven’t got just straight 
as yet, but soon will,” remarked the doctor. 

“I would give five hundred dollars,” said 
the preacher and snapped his fingers and 
laughed; “Yes, I am poor, but I would give 
five hundred dollars to get the facts, for I 
know that every word of it is just like you 
heard it.” 

“I have the thread,” said the doctor, chang- 
ing the subject. “I love that girl, Susan, but 
since he has been back she has thrown me over- 
board.” 

The preacher felt his pocket for a letter that 
he had from her. He was a silent lover, but 
worked hard for the first place, and said : “If 
you don’t get her I hope that he don’t, for I 
think really she has a turn for a preacher’s 
wife.” 

“That’s it,” said the doctor, “Every man for 
himself.” 

“I believe it any way,” said the preacher. 
“With that girl as the queen of my home I 
would make the Bishopric.” 


J. Johnson; or ”The Unknown Man' 


49 


“Yes,” said the doctor, “You will make the 
Bishopric without her.” 

“I think,” remarked the preacher, “That we 
both will have to watch that fellow Jim.” 

The doctor remarked, “I guess I will be go- 
ing on that.” 

“Why not stay all night?” 

“No; I must be at the office. I don’t know 
when a call might be made.” 

“Don’t forget to push matters,” said the 
preacher. “I know that Susie doesn’t want to 
marry a convict.” 

“No,” said the doctor, “Our people are 
not like they used to be. They use a little com- 
mon sense now about the married relation.” 

Thus the preacher and doctor parted with 
a vow to meter out vengeance upon Jim. 


CHAPTER IX. 


What Jim Thought. 

While the town was all arife discussing the 
affairs of the evening, Jim, the orator, and 
while the doctor and preacher were plotting 
as to the next move, Jim, Aunt Jane and Uncle 
Jonah were spending the evening around a 
warm fire. Jim remarked several times to 
his mother that he thought that the preacher 
and doctor were such fine men. Said he, “I 
am glad that you have such a fine preacher. 
Susie thinks he is a very able man and she also 
tells me that the young doctor is so well 
thought of by the people.” 

‘Wes,” said Aunt Jane, “He is a fine preach- 
er; cose de people seem ter think he is more uv 
a teacher or essay reader, but Ise er findin’ no 
fault of him, cose I ain’t gointer fight no man 
of God. No, and dat doctor is de best church 
lover dats er gwine amongst dem doctors and 
dey tell me he gives a right pert medicine.” 

“Oh,” said Uncle Jonah, “Janie, you believe 
he can cure anybody? Ise right sort of poorly 


50 


/. Johnson; or ‘‘The Unknown Man' 


51 


myself sometimes, but Ise afraid to call a doc- 
tor. You see Ise er been ’round here a long 
time and Ise afraid if I take any powerful lot 
of medicine I mought crap. Ho! Ho! I ain’t 
gwin ter call none of um. Dat preacher and 
doctor today, when you told ’em what dar 
work in the future would be, just drawed up 
like dey was shot, an’ Miss Susan had to push 
a handkerchief in her mouth to keep from 
laughing. But, boy, you made er ’pression.” 

‘^You think so. Uncle Jonah?” asked Jim. 

“Ha! Ha!” laughed Uncle Jonah. “Yes, 
yes, you certainly silent dat doctor, cose he 
likes to talk an’ dat preacher looked like er 
kitten drapped in er pond.” 

“Ise always says,” said Aunt Jane, “Dat 
Jim has a head on him. Nobody kin ’spute 
dat!” 

“Ma, if you and Uncle Jonah will excuse 
me a little while, I am going out for a little 
fresh air.” 

“Yes, son,” replied Uncle Jonah, “You is 
’scused.” 

“Mind, Jim! Be careful,” said Aunt Jane, 
“You know it is seven er clock. Don’t be out 


52 J. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man' 


late. Dey er haulin’ up mighty heap o’ people 
now days.” 

“Oh, boy,” said Uncle Jonah, “Wimmen 
folks always dat way, but nothin’ ain’t gwinter 
happen to you.” 

Jim pulled his coat about him and left. 

After he was gone. Uncle Jonah said, “Janie 
dis makes close onter seventy years since I fuss 
court you, and I thinks ef you gwinter say yes, 
its high time uv it.” 

Aunt Jane raised the fire iron and said, 
“Jonah, Ise gib you dat!” 

Jonah said, “I love no ’oman but you in all 
de world, and tell de ole man you’ll marry ’im. 
You don’t believe me, but once you git de piz- 
en in yer heart you can’t git it out till some- 
thing is done. Will you marry me?” 

Aunt Jane dropped her head, and after a 
long time said, “Jonah, gib me a little more 
time.” 

Jonah said, “I’ll gib you till Saturday 
night.” 

While they were talking, Jim had walked 
out, and after wandering around, found him- 
self at the home of Miss Susan Smith. They 


J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


53 


were all glad to see him, and after a few greet- 
ings, he found himself and Miss Smith quite 
deserted by the others. 

She looked at him and just laughed; he 
looked bashful and a bit surprised, or, I might 
say, wild. He had quite a few things in mind, 
but they seemed to have all left him. 

“I haven’t heard you tell me a thing about 
your trip since you returned,” said Susan. 
“How was New York? I knew that you 
passed through there.” 

“Yes,” said he, “I spent three days there, 
but I tell you. Miss Smith, that while it is a 
great city, there is no place like the South.” 

“Don’t say that! Call me Susie like you al- 
ways did. It makes us look like strangers to 
call me anything else,” said Miss Smith. 

“Well, you must call me Jim then. None of 
your Mr. Johnson for me, because I want to 
feel at home, too,” remarked Jim. 

“All right,” said Susie, “But how about the 
party Friday night, we’ll have to use a handle 
to your name then.” 

“I don’t care,” said Jim, “But I just can’t 
feel at home unless you call me Jim.” 


54 J- Johnson; or “The Unknown Man^^ 


“Well, M — er (I came near saying it), Jim, 
tell me about New York.” 

“Susie,” said Jim, “New York is a marvel, 
a wonderland. Why, there are more 
people in one building than there are in this 
entire town of five thousand people. Do you 
know that in that city I have seen a bread line 
for one block long, one man standing behind 
the other, waiting two hours to get a loaf of 
bread. And what do you think of three car 
lines running down the same street over the 
same space ; land is so valuable and people so 
numerous that it must be.” 

“But,” remarked Susie, “It is a physical im- 
possibility.” 

“Not so,” said Jim. 

“How can it be?” asked Susie. 

“Why,” said Jim, “One line is on the ground 
— then there is the elevated line in the air — ” 

“And the other.” 

“Under the ground,” said Jim. “It is called 
the subway, and the cars under there don’t run, 
nay, they go so fast they seem to fly. There 
are stores, restaurants and shops all under 


/. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man^ 


55 


ground, and thousands of people go for days 
without ever seeing daylight.” 

“It certainly is a great city,” said Susie. 

“Yes,” continued Jim, “I am told that they 
have ten thousand police that daily go on duty, 
and over sixteen thousand Sunday School 
teachers who stand before classes on Sunday.” 

“Do many people die there?” asked Susie. 

“Yes,” said Jim, “They have a death every 
eight minutes and at that rate one would think 
that they would all die, but that is safeguarded 
by a birth every five minutes.” 

“Well,” said Susie, “How about the girls. I 
expect that you got in love with some of them 
while there.” 

“They have beautiful girls,” said Jim. 
“They look like angels; some are so small 
and fair and their eyes are so clear, the lan- 
guage so choice. I was one day standing on 
the corner of Broadway and 53rd St., and one 
passed me that fairly flittered along. The 
odor that filled the air seemed sweet as Rose 
of Atter. I was lost in admiration.” 

“Say, you got stuck!” said Susie, and then 
stop. 


56 /. Johnson; or ^'The Unknown Man'^ 


“No, little girl, don’t get jealous! I did not 
get in love,” said he. “If I have ever loved a 
girl ; if there is one that I might call my angel, 
if there is one that I shall ever look forward 
to as my love, believe me dear girl, Susie shall 
be that one.” 

Susie bowed her head and when words 
obeyed the mandates of will, she said, “Mr. 
Johnson, I — er— you see I forgot — Jim, if I 
could only believe it, but I was so afraid some 
Northern girl would steal your heart; then 
you know you are bright and I am dark and 
I am told that white women marry colored 
men in the North and I knew that I was poor; 
I didn’t know what you might do.” 

“Not a word of it,” said Jim, “There is 
very little of this intermarriage that you speak 
of; there are a few poor whites. Swedes and 
Irish, that marry with colored, but I tell you 
positively and emphatically that they are not 
millionaires. But for Jim Johnson’s part, 
there is but one angel for me; she may be ten 
times darker than she is but I will ever love 
her. If she was as black as the ace of spades 
and possessed the character that she has, I 
would love her; yea, I would love but her. 


/. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


S7 


“Susie, believe me,” said Jim. “The Negro 
is not trying to get away from his race ; there is 
no woman under the sun that holds the charms 
for him as is found in his own women. I 
know that I am fair, but did I make myself? 
Can I, by thinking, change one hair, or add 
one cubic inch to this great universe? I know 
you are dark, but did you make yourself? You 
had no part in it; it was the plan of the Al- 
mighty. But here we are : some are dark, some 
red, some yellow, some brown and some white, 
but who among us can change their skin? Not 
one. 

“Twenty^years ago, I found myself shaking 
on the knee of an old woman, but the dearest 
friend I have in all the world. She is black, 
but she has been my life. Susie, believe me,” 
Jim stood up, “I had rather have my tongue 
plucked out and this arm cut off than deny her. 
And some day, when it falls my lot to take 
a wife, a woman like her, a dark woman, yes, 
a black woman shall be my wife and my life 
shall be lost in her life, and in eternity we 
shall be one.” 


58 /. Johnson; or ^‘The Unknown Man' 


“Oh,” said Susie, “Jim, if I could only be- 
lieve it; it’s too much for me! I can’t. Oh! 
That I could only believe it. I know I love 
you ; for eight years my life has breathed no 
other desire, no other thought than to think 
of you. You remember the day we plaited 
the May pole together, and you were crowned 
king, and I queen? I thought that you looked 
like King Solomon that I read of in the Bible 
and I only wished that I might have appeared 
as the Queen of Sheba. They tell me she was 
black, Jim; I don’t know how you felt, but 
since that day my soul has been living on your 
name.” 

Jim extended his hands and as he did it she 
remained a safe distance and extended her 
hands also. There in the gloom of a flickering 
lamp light that glimmered through a pink 
and green globe, they stood silently gazing in- 
to each other’s eyes. A tear of joy like one 
big diamond rolled from the eyes of Susie and 
Jim was too high upon the hills of paradise 
to break the silence. They loosed their hands 
and half blinded by the joy and ecstacy, Jim 


/. Johnson; or *‘The Unknown Man' 


59 


felt for his hat and stole his way into the 
dark. When he returned, Uncle Jonah had 
gone and Aunt Jane was deep in the throes 
of slumber. 


CHAPTER X. 


The Party. 

In a few days the town had forgotten the 
platform meeting and like all small cities, the 
whole society of young folks were absorbed 
in the coming event. The women were mak- 
ing new gowns, the girls were buying new rib- 
bons and many who were not able to get new 
dresses were getting out the old ones from the 
trunks and either making them over again, 
darning the weak places, or they were dusting 
them up. 

The preacher said that he did not like such 
events too well, as it was out of his line, but 
he didn’t see how he could stay away. 

The doctor was “Awful afraid,” as he 
termed it, “That he might lose a call by not 
being at his office, and that old Doctor Boston 
or some other physician would get it, but he 
could not fail to attend the ‘Levee.’. Why,” 
said he, “We doctors miss so much in the pro- 
fession, there is so much self-denial and such a 
sacrifice on our part.” 


60 


/. Johnson; or ^'The Unknown M\an' 


6i 


Uncle Jonah said that if he could call back 
forty years, he would set the pace for the 
youngsters. 

“Ise er gettin’ sorter painful now,” said 
Uncle Jonah, “But de music sorter make dis 
old boss prance. Janie knows it; she knows 
how in the old times we boys used to attend 
parties and dances and grab de rabbit, an’ play 
Roguish Sam, all de night long.” 

The day of the party arrived. A large hall 
was secured. Some young women spent most 
of the morning in decorating and getting 
ready for the occasion. Ferns, flowers and 
plants of all kinds were brought and long 
tables with white cloths lined the building. 
At the head of one of the tables was an arch 
that was profusely decorated and under which 
were two chairs. On one the name of “Jim,” 
was written with green leaves and studded 
with red holly berries. The other bore no 
initial but all understood that it was placed 
there for Jim’s best friend. The minister was 
to sit at the other end of the table that held 
the “guest of honor,” and the doctor was 
placed at the head of the table just over the 


62 /. Johnson; or ‘‘The Unknown Man' 


hall. Every preparation in the power of the 
people was made that the event might be one 
big success. 

An orchestra of ten pieces had been secured 
from the neighboring town and many of the 
leading elites from there were expected to at- 
tend. Among the folks from that town who 
would attend was a talkative old fellow that 
was there by special invitation from the doc- 
tor and the preacher. No one else knew of 
his coming; he was the man who had given 
the doctor the thread as to Jim’s ancestry. 

That night at the party after the speeches, 
if any were made, and if there were no 
speeches, during the card party or some other 
game, he was to come up and make himself 
known to Jim and at the same time give him 
a bit of news so interesting to the preacher 
and doctor. By a concocted plan he would 
tell Jim how glad he was to meet him; that 
he was sorry that his mother was in jail — that 
he knew his father for years before he was 
shot, and that he was exceedingly glad to know 
that he had made a mark in life in spite of the 
fact that the odds were against him. 


CHAPTER XI. 


The Unknown Man and His Friends. 

The night covered the earth like a curtain. 
The moon, like a big ball of fire, was just ris- 
ing from behind the hills of the old town. It 
seemed to be just behind the old station where 
Aunt Jane, Uncle Jonah and Miss Smith had 
waited for a train a trifle over a week ago. The 
old buildings, many of them had been there 
before the war; from those walls the slave and 
master had spent many a jolly day. And some- 
times the weird yell of the slave had been 
heard late in the night, as he passed the old 
graveyard, to keep away the ghost; all bygone 
days. Slavery was gone, the whip lash gone, 
the songs gone, but the old house that once 
made this town the pride of the South stood 
there yet, like a mighty phantom against the 
grey moonlight, and the white tombstones and 
old black headboards stood there also as a 
reminder that the slave and master of those 
days were yet inseparable. 

In a short while crowds of young men and 


63 


64 /. Johnson; or ^^The Unknown Man'’ 


women were seen hurrying along the streets, 
the more fortunate in automobiles, laudaus 
and carriages, but the majority were walking. 

Down back of the old jail, the shadows of 
three men might be seen — the doctor, preacher 
and our friend, the Unknown. 

The voice of one said, “I would give a hun- 
dred dollars if I could learn all about — ” 

The Unknown said, “I tell you I know all 
about it.” 

“Well,” said the preacher, “Tell us about 
it.” 

“I told you his father was dead — killed by 
his mother.” 

Preacher: “How about his mother?” 

Unknown: “I know all about her.” 

Doctor: “You said she was in the chain 
gang.” 

Unknown: “Yes, or anywhere you want 
her.” 

The preacher and doctor in concert: “Do 
you think you can work it?” 

Unknown: “If enough steam is put in it.” 

Doctor: “I don’t know how you will do it 
unless you congratulate him on his speech be- 


/. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man” 65 


fore the company, and tell him this strange 
news as we said/’ 

Unknown: ‘Tut the steam behind it and I 
will do the rest.” 

“How much?” asked the doctor. 

“Oh, not much,” said the Unknown. “I 
heard the Elder say he would give a hundred 
bones, but I don’t want that much.” 

“How much?” stammered the preacher. “Of 
course, a lot of things like the Gospel has to be 
free.” 

“This will not be free,” said the Unknown. 

“Well, set the price,” said the doctor. 

“No; you name it,” replied the Unknown. 

“How would a five spot look?” 

“The devil you say!” exclaimed the Un- 
known. “What could I do with a five spot? 
Do you suppose I would come ’way over here 
and lose my rest and jeopardize my life and 
turn a girl’s love to you all for five dollars? 
Not by a jug full.” 

“How much, then?” asked the doctor. 

Unknown: “Make it fifty, and give half 
now and the balance when the duck is stewed.” 


66 /. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man” 


Doctor: “Can’t you do better than that? 
Call it twenty down. Of course I hope that 
you understand our position; we simply want 
to see him humiliated, as the town is wild over 
him.” 

“And a girl,” said the Unknown. “All right, 
give me the twenty dollars and the other as 
you stated.” 

The doctor and the minister stepped aside. 
Speaking confidently the doctor said, “Elder, 
give me $io will you? I will give the other; 
of course we can get the other later.” 

Preacher: “I haven’t mine now, but I can 
pay you Sunday. You fix it, it will be all 
right.” 

“How much have you now?” said the doc- 
tor. 

The preacher felt in his pockets. “I could 
spare you thirty cents,” said he. 

The doctor turned ashy: “Say what man? 
Thirty cents! And I got $19.70 to get up.” 

“See can’t you get him to do a little better,” 
said the preacher. 

Doctor: “He has said what he would do.” 

Preacher: “And I have told you that finan- 


J. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man” 67 


dally I am incapadtated; in other words, I 
am short, but I will stand by you ; yes, to the 
last ditch.’’ 

The Unknown (gruffly) : “Gentlemen, if 
you gwinter do anything, let me have it, cose 
dis is sorter tedious work and I want a little 
something for this cold before the party.” 

Doctor: “All right, sir; but we are a bit 
short.” 

Unknown : “Well, give me what you have.” 

At which request the doctor gave him ten 
dollars and promised the other later. 

“Now Elder, give me yours,” said the Un- 
known. 

The preacher gave him thirty cents. He 
looked at the minister and said: “Is this yours? 
Well, this is way over what I ’spected for 
preachers are generally nothing but talk — 
when—” 

“Yes,” said the preacher, “The last wine is 
the best.” 

Unknown: “But it seemed to be such little 
wine, ’specially when you said you would give 
a hundred dollars. I am surely glad, man, dat 
you did not say two hundred.” 


68 /. Johnson; or ^'The Unknown Man'' 


They parted, the doctor and preacher go- 
ing in one direction and the Unknown in an- 
other. When they had separated, the preach- 
er remarked to the doctor: “I guess you will 
take Miss Smith out?” 

“No,” said the doctor. “She has thrown me 
overboard.” 

“I wrote her,” said the preacher, “To get 
the honor, and she answered that she was 
otherwise engaged, so I thought you were the 
one.” 

“Not I,” said the physician. 


CHAPTER XIL 


Toast Makers. 

While the doctor and the preacher were 
holding a conference with the Unknown, Jim 
was far on the road pressing toward Susie’s 
house, so when the conference ended they had 
reached the thoroughfare in the doctor’s bug- 
gy, just in time to see Jim and Susie going 
down the street. 

Jim said to Miss Smith, “Susie, I know 
you will pardon me for not bringing a team. 
I had one engaged, but it did not show up.” 

The reader can see at a glance that some 
one is doing underhanded work. 

“Ah, Mr. Johnson,” said Susie, “I am so 
glad that you did not bring it. You know that 
you will return to school and this is no time 
to waste money. We can walk that little dis- 
tance. You know how we used to walk with 
Aunt Jane and Uncle Jonah? And I know 
we are much bigger now.” 

As Jim and Susie marched along, she in 


69 


70 /. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man^ 


white and he in black, it looked like a wed- 
ding, all but the preacher. Jim, however, was 
afraid to touch her and barely held her arm. 
They flittered like two butterflies in Spring, 
and as the moonlight struck their form, the 
long shadows united into one and resembled 
some angelic form crossing the Elysian hills. 
When they were within two blocks of the 
hall, they heard the music. The measured 
time seemed to have been intended for them 
to walk by. Now it stops, they play a med- 
ley, ‘^Old Black Joe,” ‘‘Dixie,” then they 
struck up Bob Cole’s and Rosamond John- 
son’s famous air, “If you like me as I like 
you and we both like each the same, this very 
day, if you may, I want to change your name.” 

Jim said, “I never heard anything sound so 
real in my life.” 

Susie flinched and drew up but simply drew 
a long breath without uttering a word. 

They entered the hall amid applause, music 
and a most cordial reception. 

Many of the young women were grouped in 
one part of the building while the young men 
were in another part talking about the silly 


/. Johnson; or ‘'The Unknown Man' 


71 


things that only young people can think to 
talk about. A few were having checkers, 
fortune games, lotto and dominoes while a 
small crowd was watching the orchestra. The 
tables seemed to be groaning beneath the loads 
of good things, while every now and then the 
grinding of ice cream freezers and the break- 
ing of the ice might be heard. Salads, chick- 
ens, cakes, pies and other eatables so perfumed 
the air that appetite was sharpened upon enter- 
ing the very door. Jim and Susie were soon 
lost in the crowd. Jim sometimes with a 
crowd of young ladies or young men about 
him, talking, chattering, smiling and joking, 
then again having some innocent game. 

After a few moments, the preacher with 
another young leader arrived, then shortly 
after, the doctor leading a young lady dressed 
in full pink and a double portion of false hair 
and false diamonds, entered. 

One of the girls said to the other, “He can’t 
come in a Pullman so he took a tourist.” 

“Yes,” said the other, “I do despise him. He 
tries to be so important and high toned.” 

“Mind,” said the other, “Don’t get jealous.” 


72 J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man'^ 


“Not me,” replied the other, “I would pass 
by a hundred men like that and never see one 
of them, and that little old sawed off preacher 
is just like him.” 

The preacher walked over to where they 
were. He! He! laughed one, “We were just 
talking about — ” 

“Ah, girl,” said the other. And by that 
time four or five had joined the party. 

“I hope,” said the preacher, “That it was 
something good.” 

“Yes, it was about your big sermons.” 

“That was so kind of you,” said the preach- 
er. 

“We are delighted to see you tonight. We 
know how prejudiced preachers are toward 
such things.” 

“Yes, many of them are,” said the preacher, 
“But I could not stay away. I wanted to honor 
our friend, the young college man who is so 
worthy.” 

“We are proud of him,” said a chorus of 
voices. 

“No one feels proud of me,” said the preach- 
er. 


J. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man'' 73 


^‘You see,” said one of the girls, “He is so 
nice. He grew up with us; we have known 
him so long and he is so fine.” 

The minister said, “If you ladies will ex- 
cuse me a few minutes, I want to shake 
hands with my friend the doctor.” The 
preacher walked over to where the doctor was 
and shook hands with him and the girl in pink. 
A broad grin stood on his face as he looked 
at the doctor and said, “Everybody coupled 
but the Divine?” 

“Yes,” said the lady, “It looks as though 
the Divine had a dozen couples with him a 
while ago.” 

“Ah,” remarked the preacher, “Just killing 
time, that is all.” 

Every now and then the doctor and preacher 
would gaze toward the door as though they 
were looking for some one. The fleeting mo- 
ments rolled by and soon grew into hours. The 
musicians became tired and stopped every lit- 
tle while to talk. Supper now was all made 
ready and the guests were served. As a special 
arrangement to seat the guests without that 
noise and stir that follows such entertainments. 


74 Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man'' 


the party was coupled off and the band struck 
up Repaz Grand March, and after promenad- 
ing around the hall two or three times in the 
grand march, each one found his place at the 
table. Every one just as arranged to a very 
gnat’s heel. The preacher’s back was to the 
door while the doctor was seated in a po- 
sition to gaze into the darkness, therefore the 
preacher watched the doctor while the doctor 
watched the door. 

Supper was soon over and several were 
called upon to give toasts. The doctor was re- 
quested to give one in honor of our guest as a 
“college man.” The preacher on, “Oppor- 
tunity as it presents itself to a young man just 
leaving college.” Susie spoke on, “Jim as she 
knew him in the public school,” another on, 
“What will his future be,” and several others 
on different subjects. 

The doctor in his speech devoted much time 
in telling of his college life as he found it at 
Maharry, but seemed to have missed the mark 
entirely as relating to Jim’s college life or any- 
thing else about him. 

The minister was not so narrow, said he. 


J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


Ih 


“Opportunity ever stands in the way of a 
young man leaving school ; as he enters upon 
life there is but one thing to do and that 
is to seize it. I find that most young men are 
too anxious to marry. That is a mistake, no 
man ought to marry until he has money or 
something to live upon. (The doctor coughed) . 
Yes, I repeat it that most men marry too 
young.” 

Susie in a very brilliant and stirring speech, 
told of him — Jim — “In public school, how he 
had helped the dull students, how he led the. 
class and how without any support of parents,, 
as he was an orphan, yet, without the aid of 
special friends he did whatever his hands 
found to do. Like a leaping comet he had 
swept by one comrade after another, till now 
he lacked but one year of being a full-fledged 
college graduate, and just think how he has 
done within twenty years what it requires 
forty years for most men to accomplish.” 

The one who spoke on “What will his future 
be,” became rhapsodical. He said, “Why what 
shall he be, a blacksmith to shoe his neighbors’ 
horses? Nay; if he did, success would be his. 


5 


y6 J. Johnson; or ”The Unknown Man' 


A cook? If so, he would be the chief. A 
preacher? No, that high calling has no 
charms for him, but if he was, you heard 
him Sunday afternoon, you can but surmise 
that no three churches in town could hold his 
crowd, though they were built into one. A 
doctor? No, I don’t think he would glory in 
giving castor oil, but I dare say that if he was, 
he would lead the state and make new discov- 
eries in medicine. His place would be in the 
long line of stalwarts who make medicine, 
write books and tell others what to do. What 
his future will be, I know not, but in my vision 
I can see him entering the gilded hall of 
fame ; I can see the daughters of fortune plac- 
ing a wreath of victory upon his brow. Ladies 
and gentlemen, let me implore you to rise and 
give three cheers for Jim, the young leader of 
Bowser town.” They all arose, even the doc- 
tor and the preacher and gave the yell. Over 
in the corner around the punch table about a 
dozen fellows could be discovered who would 
occasionally quench their thirst on punch. 
During the supper and while the speeches 
were being made, they had not been discov- 


/. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man'* 77 


ered, but no sooner than the yell for Jim was 
made, like a sleeping man just aroused on the 
train, reaches his station, jumps up and joins 
the crowd and does it in a hurry. All looked 
around as they yelled with a tremendous ap- 
plause. Among them was a big chunky ath- 
letic dark looking fellow, who seemed to have 
shouted, ^‘Three cheers for Jim,” so loud that 
his voice sounded high above the others. His 
voice was so strong that all had to notice him, 
a red bandana was around his neck, and his 
coat collar pulled up. When they cheered 
three times he cheered again, “hurrah, for 
Doctor Jim.” The doctor looked at the 
preacher and winked. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Did You Ever See a Shoot-the-Chute? 

The man so recently discovered was the Un- 
known. The feast being over, the music 
started and a few began waltzing, but the ma- 
jority played some game. The doctor walked 
over to the group of men near the punch bowl 
and up to the man with the red bandana about 
the neck whom you have no doubt guessed was 
none other than the Unknown, and said, “If 
you intend to do that, what make you don’t 
shoot?” 

The Unknown replied, “When I sez a thing 
you can ’pend on it.” 

“Well shoot then!” said the doctor. The 
doctor then walked over where Jim was and 
soon was lost in the mingling crowd. In the 
meantime, he tried to get as many friends 
about Jim and Susie as he could, always tak- 
ing great pains to show special courtesies to- 
ward Jim. The preacher having seen the doc- 
tor conversing with the Unknown, thought the 
time was ripe for the triumph, so he busied 


78 


/. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man' 


79 


himself drawing all that he could about the 
guest of honor. He and the doctor vied to- 
gether to see who could go one better in story 
telling. 

The crowd by the punch bowl, having dried 
that vessel, drew near the company who had 
formed a circle about Jim. As they were pass- 
ing, the doctor looked at the Unknown and 
winked and then back at the crowd, remark- 
ing at the same time, “Have you ever seen a 
shoot- the-chute?” Then glanced about him 
for the Unknown, but to his surprise and cha- 
grin the Unknown was passing out the door. 
He looked at the preacher and frowned. The 
story telling reached a very sudden end and 
one by one the joy-makers filed out of the 
door. Jim and Susie went along with the 
crowd. The preacher went with the doctor 
and the girl in pink walked between them. 
The music hushed, the lights of the hall were 
darkened and the party of Bowser town be- 
came a thing of history. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A Mystery. 

After Jim and Susie had gone a certain dis- 
tance, once or twice he thought that he saw 
some one lurking along in the dark. He said 
nothing; they went on conversing and prais- 
ing the different features of the entertainment. 
Jim bade Susie good night and started for 
home; a stick cracked near him once or twice. 
Once he thought that he saw a form stumbling 
along in the dark, and managing always to 
hold the dark street. When he got near his 
home he saw it again. He stopped and made 
an investigation and to his surprise the man 
came toward him. Jim could not make out 
its form. He saw something in the man’s 
hand like an old Lincoln Springfield rifle. His 
hair stood on end; his skin grew tight; as the 
man approached, he stopped and let down the 
trigger of the rifle. By this time Jim was 
white with fear; he felt his pocket, grabbed 
his pen knife in one hand and was almost about 
to take his sky piece in the other. (The reader 


80 


/. Johnson; or ^^The Unknown Man' 


8i 


can surmise what he was about to do.) The 
man broke out in a laugh, “Hawl Hal Haw! 
Is dat you Mr. Johnson? Why, Ise ’spect dis 
is a sorter diserpintment to you, but I wuz on 
picket guard tonight.” 

‘‘Why, that’s you Uncle Jonah?” asked Jim. 
“You certainly had me scared, old fellow; yes, 
sir.” 

“Yes, Ise been scared myself,” responded 
Uncle Jonah. 

“Now, Uncle Jonah,” said Jim, “Remember 
that I am never anything but Jim to you. 
Don’t call me anything else, for if you do, I 
can’t feel at home.” 

“Yas, boy,” said Uncle Jonah. “I bet Jane 
ain’t slept er wink tonight. Dis is bin an aw- 
ful time — awful time.” 

“What is the trouble?” said Jim with sur- 
prise. 

“Why everything is, is er pesterin’ us. It 
makes me think ’bout de time John Brown was 
’rested at Harper’s Ferry.” 

“What is it, Uncle Jonah?” said Jim. “You 
are killing me by degrees.” Jim felt his brow 
from which cold sweat was pouring down. 


82 J, Johnson; or *‘The Unknown Man' 


“Sonny, I sez its hard to tell,” answered 
Uncle Jonah. “ ’Bout seven o’clock I goes 
down to see Jane, and I had hardly taken my 
seat, when a big ’mobile stop right at de door; 
er man comes in wid a red handerchief ’round 
his neck and sez: ‘Is Mr. Jim Johnson in?’ 
Janie says ‘No.’ He sez not a word, den he 
disappeared; de ’mobile goes, too.” 

“Uncle Jonah,” said Jim, “Did he leave in 
the automobile, or was he walking?” 

“Ise not quite bright on dat pint,” replied 
Uncle Jonah. 

“But they left,” said Jim. 

“Yes; den I ’specting nothing but sorter 
lighting Jane on bit of news I had hearn by a 
man as I wuz cornin’ down de street while he 
wuz a-telling another; he didn’t see me. I wuz 
in de dark, and he said ‘Jim Johnson,’ and I 
wuz tolerable anxious to learn what he wanted 
wid Jim Johnson. Well, he said dat he had 
made $3.00; said a certain doctor had given 
him three dollars to disappoint you wid his 
carriage, so I sorter cleared my throat and he 
seeing me sez to the tuther man: “Dat’s old 
Jonah. Don’t tell him.” 


J. Johnson; or ^‘The Unknown Man” 83 


“That’s the click, is it?” said Jim. 

“I goes down,” said Jonah, “To Jane’s to 
look you up about it, but when I gits dar you 
wuz gone, den I in a very quiet way breaks de 
news to Janie. While Ise dar talking to her 
de ’mobile passed agin and after a while I 
hearn one pass agin, so sez I to Janie, Ise 
mighty ’rested in you, Ise gwine ter be your 
picket guard an ef a dozen doctors or anybody 
else start anything Ise right dar already cocked 
and primed. 

“How can you account for that?” said Jim 
rather seriously. 

“I dunno, boy. I wuz at de hall when de 
doctor and dem were making de speeches and 
I seed you and Susie and hearn what dey said 
’bouten you. When you comes outen de hall I 
follows on behind, case I wuz er picket.” 

The two walked on together and when they 
reached the house. Aunt Jane was up by the 
fire. When she saw Jim her eyes sparkled 
with joy. Uncle Jonah with his Springfield, 
walked behind. 

Said he: “Janie, I wuz powerful scared 
once tonight that I might have to do some 


84 Johnson; or ”The Unknown Man' 


fightin’, but didn’t.” While he was speaking 
a big automobile rolled up to the door and 
our friend the Unknown stepped to the door 
and knocked. When he was admitted, Jim at 
once recognized him as the man at the party 
who gave the fourth yell, for he had on the 
same bandana about his neck. 

Said he : “I wish to speak to you all a bit, 
but swear that you will abide by the contract.” 

“It’s not the best thing to do to swear all de 
time ’less you knows what you are swearing,” 
replied Uncle Jonah. 

“Nothing to hurt you,” said the Unknown. 
They all three stood and raised their hands, 
but the Unknown said, “No! Let us join them, 
and as we are but four, let’s swear by the four 
winds of the Universe.” They joined their 
hands and in these words the Unknown said: 
“Swear that you will not open a certain letter 
that I will give you tonight until nine a. m. in 
the morning; that when you do open it that 
you three will stand by the tombstone over the 
street in front of the bank on Lemon Street. 
Many people think that it is a monument, but 


/. Johnson; or ‘‘The Unknown Man' 85 


it is a tombstone that was placed over a grave 
just twenty years ago, at which time that lot 
was a private lot.” 

“Yes,” said Aunt Jane, “I remember it well 
when dar wuz a house on de lot.” 

He continued, “Do you so promise me?” 

They answered in concert: “We do.” 

Their hands were loosened and the Un- 
known took a long grey letter from his pocket. 
It was closed with wax and a seal thereon; he 
placed it in the hands of Jim at the same time 
saying, “Young man, I give it to you because 
it is yours, but keep the vow upon the honor 
of a gentleman.” He bade them goodnight 
and the autombile left. The Unknown stood 
on the side of the driver. 


CHAPTER XV. 


Two Separate Scenes. — The Duel. 

When the automobile left, Jim tucked the 
letter safely into his pocket and after a few 
passing remarks, left the evening to Uncle 
Jonah and Aunt Jane. 

In spite of the worry and excitement the 
blessing that belonged to youth was his. His 
eyes had hardly closed as he struck the bed be- 
fore he was fast asleep and knew nothing nor 
thought nothing till next morning about seven 
o'clock, when he heard a knocking on the win- 
dow and a familiar voice: “You all ain’ter 
gwinter git up today?” 

A voice answered from the little shed or 
kitchen, “Ise up already, you don’t find me in 
de bed at dis hour, but I thought I wouldn’t 
bother Jim yit, cose I know he is tired.” 

“Open de door den, don’t you know it’s eight 
o’clock and fast gwine on nine?” 

“No; I wasn’t er thinking it dat late. Jim! 
Jim! Son, you better git up.” 


86 


/. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man'' 87 


Jim rolled over, stretched out, bounded 
from the bed. With the practice of quick 
dressing learned at the school, in five minutes 
he was dressed, head combed and ready for 
breakfast, which had been on the table for 
some time. 

“Dat boy sho’ is pert,” said Uncle Jonah. 
“Dese boys ’round here always take an hour 
to dress.” 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ * 

That night when the automobile left Aunt 
Jane’s house, it stopped and put the Unknown 
off near the doctor’s, but to his surprise the 
doctor wasn’t home, so he wandered down to 
the peacher’s, and just as he expected, the doc- 
tor and preacher were holding their council. 

One said, “You did wrong to pay so much in 
advance.” 

“I thought I would encourage him.” 

“But you see what he did.” 

“He did nothing.” 

“When I thought that he was about ready 
to snap the cap he had sneaked out.” 

“How long have you known him?” 

“I don’t know him.” 


88 /. Johnson; or *^The Unknown Man'' 


‘What is his name?’’ 

“I tell you I don’t know.” 

. “How did you find him?” 

“He found me.” 

“You mean to say you don’t know him?” 

“No; I don’t know him?” 

“That is funny.” 

“I don’t see anything so funny about that. I 
was attending a case over there, and was ask- 
ing folks did they know anything about the 
parents of Jim Johnson, and this man came up 
and took me aside, and said he could make me 
wise. I told him how I loved Susie and that 
if he would help me what I would do. Then 
he made an agreement to meet me tonight as 
we did.” 

“What did you say was his name?” 

“I don’t know, I tell you.” 

By that time a blundering was heard on the 
porch, then a knock. The preacher opened 
the door, and to his surprise the Unknown 
with the bandana about his neck was before 
him, looking half sleepy and a jug in each 
hand. The preacher called the doctor: “Doc- 
tor Jones, here is a man who wants to see you.” 


J. Johnson; or ”The Unknown Man'' 89 


The doctor came, or rather walked, to the 
door. 

‘T want to see you both,’^ said the Unknown. 
Then he went to crying: “I think you did me 
fine, call yourself a preacher and tried to 
beat me out of my money.’’ 

‘‘I resent it,” said the preacher. 

Unknown: ^^You sent me nothing; I ain’t 
got nothing but 30 cents; an you talk about 
best wine; Ise got some right here in dis jug 
as good as anybody wants.” 

The preacher: “Man, I can’t fool with you, 
I don’t owe you nothing.” 

Unknown (talking louder and half crying) : 
“You do. You owe me $9.70 and dat Doctor 
Jones owes me $30.00. You know! You know 
you owe me! I want my money, I tell you!” 

“Man, come inside ; don’t talk so loud or you 
will wake up everybody in this community,” 
said the doctor. 

Unknown: “I ain’t coming no whar,” 
(speaking louder) “I think you fellows are 
beats, I want my money; you know dat you 
owe me.” 

The preacher, speaking to the doctor pri- 


go J. Johnson; or ^^The Unknown Man” 


va.tely: “Say, man, we got to get this fellow 
from here, if we don’t he will ruin us.” 

“What can we do,” said the doctor. 

“I don’t know,” said the preacher, “But we 
have to do something.” 

' Unknown (speaking still louder) : “Gentle- 
men, I wants my money! I says! I did your 
work, so I want my money! I’m going and 
git a perlice an’ you will give me my money.” 

The preacher was so anxious to get him 
away that he said, “Go get him then, we don’t 
owe you nothing. I don’t know your name.” 

Unknown (leaving) : “I know yourn. You 
is Elder Slackum. I know all ’bout where you 
come from.” 

At that news, the preacher drew up, then re- 
marked: “You know I had rather give that 
old guy a thousand dollars than be followed 
up by him.” 

The doctor said: “What are we going to do 
if he comes here with his police. Of course 
we have done nothing, but you know the scan- 
dal in court and the newspaper publicity to 
such things.” 

“Yes,” said the preacher, “Guilty or not, 


J. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man' 


91 


when it gets to the public, some one believes 
it.” 

The reader may not have forecasted the plot 
of the Doctor in finding Jim’s ancestry and the 
public demonstrations at the Hall, if it had 
been carried out, but that was his aim. He 
simply wanted to create a scandal, and whether 
ir was true or untrue, it would serve his pur- 
pose. 

About two o’clock the doctor said: guess 
I will go, as it’s late.” 

The preacher said: ^^Not tonight, you will 
either stay here or I will go and stay with you, 
but you will never remember leaving me here 
alone.” 

While they were talking, and had decided 
to go to bed, even if they could not sleep, a 
heavy stepping resembling that very much of 
the drunken man was heard, then a knock. 

“Doctor Jones!” called the voice, “Is you 
gwinter gimme my money? Wake up, men, 
and gib me my money! I got to go home to 
my wife. Elder! I want my money!” 

The preacher got up and opened the door. 
The Unknown pushed in. He tried to pre- 


92 /. Johnson; or ”The Unknown Man'^ 


vent him, but with jug in hand, the Unknown 
pushed in and continued to speak louder: 
^^Give me my money.” The men could not 
appease him, so they made up what they could 
and gave him, but yet was short. After he re- 
ceived what they gave and a promise for the 
balance, they tried to bid him goodnight, but 
he yet hung around and refused to go. 

He said, “Elder, ’scuse me, but I want to 
taste a little of dis for my cole. Have some?” 

The preacher said: “No, thank you, I never 
drink.” 

“It won’t hurt you.” 

“No; I just don’t think it right for preach- 
ers to drink.” 

“I seed you do worse than that.” 

“I think not.” 

“I see you and Doc tried to make me tell a 
story on dat young man.” 

“Man, I don’t understand you, and if you 
say that again, I will put you out of here. 
Don’t lie on me!” 

“You call me a liar and I will break this jug 
on you.” 

“I did not say liar, but don’t lie on me.” 


J. Johnson; or ^‘The Unknown Man' 93 


“Dat’s what you said; you’re a liar if you 
said I lied on you.” 

The preacher ran out of his coat, grabbed 
his sword out of his K. of P. scabbard and 
made a lunge at the Unknown, but the Un- 
known man dropped one jug and raised the 
other and warded off the blow. They stood in 
the room gazing at each other. 

The Unknown said: “I have a mind break- 
ing this jug over your head.” 

The preacher made a lunge at him again. 
He warded it off with the jug. 

In the meantime he seized the scabbard and 
twisted the belt around his arm and when the 
preacher struck at him again, he knocked the 
sword from his hand. The doctor seized it 
and ran out on the porch; he ran behind him; 
the two stood in the moonlight. This time 
he struck at the doctor, saying: ^Tou all want 
to run over me.” 

The preacher ran out with a jug as a weap- 
on. About this time the fight was pretty warm, 
when all at once a lady dressed in white said, 
“Doctor, what’s the matter?” 

The Doctor raised his head; the fight 


94 J- Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


Stopped, the Unknown ran oflP, the peacher 
hurried into the house. It was Susie. 

“Nothing, Susie; what are you doing out so 
late?” 

“Mother took suddenly ill,” said Susie, and 
there was no one at home to send, so I ran 
over for you to come at once.” 

“Yes,” said the doctor, “That is one of our 
Society Practices. We can’t well do it in the 
day without creating excitement, so we use this 
hour.” 

“Why did the others run?” said Susie. 

“Oh,” said the doctor, “They did not want 
you to see them.” 

Susie hurried on back home, and as quickly 
as the doctor could get over to the office, and 
to the patient, he made it. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


The Letter. 

At nine o’clock the next morning, around a 
big monument, standing ten feet from the top 
to the base, made of Vermont marble and 
beautifully carved, bearing the inscription: 
“To Commemorate the Daring Deeds of the 
Noble,” stood three persons: An old woman 
at the east, an old man at the west, and a young 
man in the middle, looking toward the north. 
If it was a novelist writing this, he would say, 
a robust young man in the bloom of life whose 
cheeks were painted by the fluid of youth, cur- 
ly hair of chestnut hue, lips that parted, his 
body strong and athletic, shoulders that bid 
fair to some day be graced by a martial uni- 
form, standing there like a giant, but so 
drooped that day by strange thoughts that the 
v/eight of so little a missile as a letter bent him 
and pressed tears from his eyes. 

He looked at the tombstone and his thoughts 
rambled. Suppose, whispered he in his heart, 
that she sleeps there, my mother; he sleeps 


95 


g6 J. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man' 


there, my father. Mother Jane has told me so 
much about them; oh, I wonder if it is true. 
If I only knew it, if it is true and if it is so 
and I knew it, I would bow on my knees and 
kiss the dust to their memory. I would press 
my lips to this cold marble. I would bathe it 
down in tears, and feeling for it I would reach 
my arms about it and feel for once that my 
mother had her arms about me. They tell me 
that spirits walk, they mount the air, and see- 
ing her poor son with a bleeding heart from 
Zion, she would come and kiss my brow. My 
father would join her in a whisper that would 
go through my soul like a thunder roll, I 
would hear their voices so loud and yet sweet 
as an angel’s voice say: “My son.” In this 
halo of glory I would read this letter written 
by the fingers of my mother. Here and there 
I would see tear drops and then the news 
would break upon me — her last words.” 

He would paint the picture of a helpless old 
woman, who for ninety years had fought hard- 
ships, pain; yea, death. Who had struggled 
on through life, some days on a single morsel; 
yet she lived. Every hair in her head was 


J. Johnson; or ”The Unknown Man’ 


97 


white and yet never once had she tried to hide 
them with dye. Her heart was so gay, she 
simply thanked God that she lived. She never 
tired talking of the past, yet her eyes ever tried 
to penetrate the future. She had been wooed 
by many, but only knew one husband, who was 
now sleeping beneath the sod. He had gone 
and her friends, one by one, like the stars had 
all gone down. Now, at the parting of the 
ways, her only friends, the sun and moon, one 
would soon be hidden behind the hills; the 
other was just rising. There she stood, gazing 
at the west with a soul as big as the universe 
and a heart made of love. There in the cold 
air of the morning, she stood thinking and 
wondering if what she had sought for twenty 
years was now to be revealed by the letter. 

He would describe Uncle Jonah as a feeble 
old man who has crossed the hills and vigor of 
manhood and now stood within the vale, the 
dews of eighty-three winters had frosted his 
brow and the sweep of rolling years had taken 
the activity from his limbs. He lived in the 
past; he talked of the darings of Brown, Jeff. 
Davis, Lee and, Grant, and convulsed the 


98 /. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man' 


crowd in laughter by his native wit and ability, 
and the wonderful stories of Lincoln, as he 
stood there like the sun almost down in the 
west; he wondered whether or not the news 
sought for twenty years was not soon to be re- 
vealed. 

The town clock in solemn tones, one after 
another, struck nine. Aunt Jane, with tears in 
her eyes; Uncle Jonah, fairly devouring the 
letter with his eyes, so anxious to learn the con- 
tents; Jim, with a trembling hand, tore off a 
bit of paper and dropped it as though each 
piece represented the stroke of the clock, and 
as the old clock struck nine, his fingers pushed 
open the letter. The first thing that met his 
gaze was the edges of bank notes. A little note 
written by the nervous hand of a woman, 
stained in two or three places, and written on 
pink paper, was tucked among it. He read 
the note and then in a soft audible voice to 
Aunt Jane and Uncle Jonah, who drew nearer, 
he counted one thousand ($1,000), two thou- 
sand ($2,000), three thousand ($3,000), four 
thousand ($4,000), five thousand dollars 
($5,000). 


J, Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man' 


99 


‘^Five thousand dollars,” said Jim. 

“What you say, son?” said Aunt Jane. Poor 
old soul liked to have shouted. 

“Five thousand dollars,” said Jim. 

“Is dat real money, son?” said Uncle Jonah. 

“Yes, sir,” said Jim. 

“Well, as rich as my old master used to be 
in slavery time, I never seed him wid dat 
much.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Jim. 

“Sonny,” said Uncle Jonah. “Is dat sho’ 
’nufif money wid de stamp on it?” 

“It’s all right.” 

“Well, I can’t believe it.” 

“Jonah,” said Aunt Jane, “Jim sez it’s so, he 
knows.” 

“Yes, Janie,” said Uncle Jonah, “But dese 
boys nowdays all call things by different 
names.” 

“Jim is all right dar,” Aunt Jane replied. 

“I thought he sorter might call $10.00 a 
thousand, cause jist think how many mules I 
can git wid five thousand dollars.” 

“Jim is right,” said Aunt Jane. 

“Yes, it is right,” said Jim. 


100 J. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man' 


Uncle Jonah shook his head. ^ Well I hearn 
edicated people change things powerful bad. 
I hearn jist a little thing as a ’tator ed dat 
preacher was ur talking about fer a long time 
I did not know what he was talking about. I 
always call um ’tators. Ole boss raised all of 
um in slavery time on um as ’tator and Jim, 
your ma Jane, I seed her give you ’tators, yit 
dis preacher had ur nother name for dem. So 
sonny, don’t git mad at your old Uncle Jonah, 
but does you mean $10.00 or a thousand?” 

^Tive thousand,” said Jim, “But I want to 
read you the letter.” 

Paris, France, March 30/A. 

Dear Jim: — 

“I hope you are well and getting on fine in 
your studies and that Aunt Jane is yet a com- 
fort and help to you, even in her old age. 
There is another old sire that I like to think 
about: dear Uncle Jonah. I hope to reward 
them some day, but God is good and he ever 
keeps the faithful. I am enclosing you a few 
pennies ($5,000.00) five thousand dollars, to 
finish your schooling and help fix you and 


J. Johnson; or *‘The Unknown Man^ 


lOI 


Aunt Jane and Uncle Jonah in shape to meet 
us. 

This envelope has a letter written on it also, 
but its contents cannot be read unless the en- 
velope is dropped in water and kept awhile, 
but upon the honor of a gentleman, do not open 
it for ten days after you open this. The man 
with a bandana around his neck, as well as 
other friends for twenty years have watched 
over you and Aunt Jane, and Uncle Jonah. 
Only do not ask who wrote this letter or sent 
the money. Don’t ask even who the party is 
that watches over you. Let me make a request. 
Put the money in the bank at once and on the 
tenth day, you and Aunt Jane and Uncle Jonah 
and the best friend you have in the world as far 
as you know, lady or gentleman, but a lady 
preferred, and the Unknown man who deliv- 
ered this letter who will call that day at nine 
p. m., meet together and dip the envelope in 
water and read my message. The Unknown 
man understands it well ; he will fix it for you. 
Kiss Aunt Jane and hug Uncle Jonah for me. 

Your loving dear. 

P. S. — I sign no name, but shall stain it with 


102 Jolinson; or ‘‘The Unknown Man'' 


one of the thousand of salty tears I have shed 
for my love.” 

A tear spot not only was found on the bottom 
of the letter, but all through it. 

Jim, Aunt Jane and Uncle Jonah walked 
over to the bank, and for the first time in their 
lives, deposited money. Jim understood it the- 
oretically, so that day he put it into practice. 
Uncle Jonah touched the pen as the person 
recommending Jim. When the banker asked 
Uncle Jonah how could he recommend him 
when he didn’t know the banker. Uncle Jonah 
replied: “I nursed your daddy. Captain. I 
knew you ’fo’ you wuz born, and for ’mending 
dis boy, I ’mend him for the President of the 
United States. An’ dis gal you see (pointing 
to Aunt Jane) was er woman ’fo’ freedom wuz 
dee-clared.” 


I 



“I’D ’MEND HIM FOR PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED 
STATES’’-Said Uncle Jonah. 


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•. r • 







CHAPTER XVIL 


Two Nervous Men. — The Hair Turns 
White in a Night. 

It was twelve o’clock that Saturday before 
the Rev. Mr. Slackam got out of bed. In gen- 
eral appearance, he looked as though he was 
bowed in health and troubled in mind. He 
tried several times to get out his sermon or 
read over those already written, but upon do- 
ing so he found himself always looking into 
vacancy. 

He shoved his sermon book aside, grabbed 
his hat and went down town. As he walked he 
had even a stealthy move. He was constantly 
gazing in every direction; he saw the whole 
town, and apparently saw nothing. By far he 
was not the man of a day before. He couldn’t 
believe himself that such a change could take 
place in so short a time. He stood in front of 
a show window with hat in hand and to his 
surprise his hair had turned white. He did 
not know himself; he wondered was it Slack- 


103 


104 Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man” 


am or someone else. “In a single night,” said 
he, “In just a single night, I, but thirty-one 
years of age, am an old man.” 

Before he realized it, tears stood in his eyes, 
his throat got full. He repeated again, “Old 
in a single night.” 

While standing meditating, one walked up 
and tapped him on the shoulder, and said: 
“Elder, I want my money,” and broke into a 
laugh. It was Doctor Jones. He remarked: 
“Man, we had a time of it last night.” 

“Yes,” said the preacher, “Much more like 
that and I will be no more.” 

The doctor replied: “I certainly gave Susie 
a turn, didn’t I?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well,” continued the Doctor, “I remember 
when I was at Meharry, my chum and I got 
all worked up to get us a private skeleton. 
Of course they had plenty of skeletons, but we 
wanted one of our own. We talked about it 
and planned for it, but times were hard and 
we never could get the price, so my friend says 
to me : ^ones, I have a scheme. I know where 
we can get one.’ I was tickled to death and 


J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Mm'' 105 


said: ^Old boy, pop your whip.’ He says: 
^Jones, there is a little graveyard on the edge 
of town. Now we will watch for the next 
funeral, and at night, while the dirt is yet 
fresh, we will get our man, you see me?’ I 
said : ‘I think I do, but it’s a little cloudy. How 
are you going to get him to your closet. Doc- 
tor?’ ^Oh, that’s easy,’ said he. We will rent 
a team — say a horse and buggy for a dollar, 
and that’s all the expense.’ Said I: “How 
about the decomposition?’ ‘Jones,’ said he, 
‘The receipt for cooking a rabbit is to first 
catch him. We can handle that matter.’ The 
opportune time arrived, an old fellow died; 
we rented a team and played the trick. My 
friend was tickled thoroughly to know that at 
last we were fixed. We dug up our man, 
placed him in the buggy, wrapped him se- 
curely in a sheet, then we went back to cover 
the grave. While we were gone, some other 
student (it must have been a student) heard of 
our scheme, so he takes the dead man out while 
w'e were at the grave. Then he gets in the 
buggy with the sheet about him. Now as we 
opened the gate to go out of the cemetery we 


106 J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


had a glimpse of some one coming, hence, you 
see we had to hurry. We jumped in the bug- 
gy and went off in a trot. When we were ’way 
on the road, my friend pushed the sheet about 
the dead man and ’lowed, ^ Jones, this man is 
warm.’ I said, ‘Of course; that sometimes hap- 
pens, as you know the profession teaches.’ We 
went on. I thought nothing. He felt him 
again and shook his head and repeated: ‘Take 
his hand, he is warm!’ I felt the dead man’s 
hand and then said, ‘He sure is.’ The dead 
man said, ‘If you had been down where I’ve 
been, you would be warm, too.” 

“What did you do?” asked the preacher. 

“I don’t know, myself; I know that I didn’t 
see my friend any more for a day. I lost my 
hat and it yet remains a mystery what became 
of the horse. Now,” continued the doctor, 
“That thing last night beat that.” 

By that time they had reached the doctor’s 
office. As they walked in and removed their 
hats, the doctor jumped back and said: “You 
have fooled me, this is not Slackam I am ad- 
dressing?” 


J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man” 107 


The preacher said, with a voice that yet bor- 
dered on fear : ‘T am he.” 

^^No, man!” 

^^Yes, I am he ; it will all soon be over. Here 
I am gazing at myself, an unknown man!” 

The preacher reached out his hand and the 
doctor caught him as he fell to the floor. 


7 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


Two Temperaments Described. 

The reader, no doubt, has noticed that the 
doctor was like lots of humanity, a man who 
weeps, but yet possessed an iron will. He 
could think on his feet, and while he was 
treacherous and jealous, yet supremely selfish, 
he could always retain self-control, and gen- 
erally knew what to do next. He was a bad 
man, he was a good man, he was one of those 
contradictions in nature. He would weep over 
the grave of an enemy and on another occasion 
rob a friend. The preacher was different. He 
possessed a green eye of jealousy, and when he 
hated you he fought you; like Judas Iscariot, 
he could sop in the dish with you and forecast 
your death. He was a little thing — a little 
world — but an atom. The doctor was like 
steel, flexible, looked soft, but was hard. The 
preacher a piece of cast iron, painted in silver, 
shining, hard, stout, strong, but brittle. 

That night the doctor had gone over to 
Susie’s house, relieved her mother, got in a 


108 


J. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man'^ 109 


word sidewise. On love, made a few dollars, 
returned home, took a two hours nap, up by 
eight and out on time for his calls, chanced to 
see Aunt Jane and Jim leaving the bank. He 
was making calls right on when he disocvered 
his friend, the preacher. If there was any- 
thing at all that troubled him, it was the desire 
to know what would be the outcome of this 
midnight’s episode with the Unknown man. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A Hook in the Heart. 

When Saturday night came, almost before 
the sun was down, Uncle Jonah called at Aunt 
Jane’s house, he asked for Jim, but was told 
that Jim tried to remain at home, but so desir- 
ous of breaking the news to Susie, that he had 
gone to her home ; however, he had only been 
gone a few minutes. ^Tn fact,” said she, 
‘‘Don’t see why you didn’t meet him.” 

“Didn’t though,” said Uncle Jonah. 

“You just as well come in,” said Aunt Jane. 

“Sort a think so,” replied Uncle Jonah. 
“What you gwine to do tomorrow, Jane? I 
was er coming down the street an’ I hearn dat 
the preacher was dead. Ise not so bright about 
it, but dey tell me its so is shure an’ if it is so, 
we is in a bad fix.” 

“No, Jonah, it can’t be so,” said Aunt Jane. 
“The people said so, and I wuz wonderin’ 
what we would do fer preachin’ tomorrow. 
Let’s hope ’tain’t so.” 

“Hope all you want to, but ’tain’t gwinter 
no 


/. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man' 


III 


change it. I tell you lots of things going on 
new now-of-days. It ’pears sorter like the first 
of freedom,” said Uncle Jonah. “I would have 
went down there, but I had a little business 
down here. You know I tell you dat we would 
take ’til Saturday night, and den we would git 
married. 

“Jonah, you ’staken,” said Aunt Jane. “I 
said give me twelve Saturday night to think 
’bouten it.” 

“I know ’twas somethin’ like dat,” replied 
Uncle Jonah. 

While they were talking Jim walked in. 
“Why, how are you. Uncle Jonah?” said Jim. 

“Sort of tollable, thank you, son. How is 
you?” 

“Quite well, thank you.” 

“Come nigh the fire.” 

“No, thank you. Uncle Jonah. I just forgot 
a poem I wanted to take over to show Susie.” 

“Since you been gone, I ’spect you was 
mighty nigh there,” replied Aunt Jane. 

“Yes, Ma,” Jim remarked, “I was about a 
block from her house before discovering I did 
not have it — that. Well, I will be seeing you, 


1 12 J. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man' 


Uncle Jonah, but don’t forget Monday night 
of next week.” 

“No; I will be down,” said Uncle Jonah, 
and then renewed his conversation with Aunt 
Jane. “Janie, how about it?” 

“What?” 

“You gwinter marry me?” 

“Jonah, things changes so.” 

“Dat’s it, I want a change.” 

“Sorry, but you have to give me twelve ad- 
der the ten days. When we see what Jim’s 
got to do about dat letter.” 

Uncle Jonah wiped a tear from his eyes and 
said, “But de pizen is in my heart, Janie, say 
yes?” 

Aunt Jane shook her head, so Uncle Jonah 
returned home just as he did many times be- 
fore, disappointed, but still hoping. 

Jim, upon reaching Susie’s, was received 
with the cordiality of a prince. Said she: “I 
have seen many receptions in Bowser, but not 
one so fine as the one that we had last night. 
You think it was fine?” 

Jim: “Indeed so, that speech of yours was 


/. Johnson; or ‘'The Unknozvn Man'' 113 


the greatest thing. I have heard college girls 
speak and the best of them, but that speech of 
yours was the best I have ever heard any wom- 
an deliver.” 

“My dear Jim, if you say that you will em- 
barrass me, for you know I am only a poor girl 
who has had but limited opportunities.” 

“Dear little girl, I got to thinking about you 
last night and I wrote these lines : 

Singj oh^ my angel, sing; 

Such joys bring thou to me; 

That e^er thy voice doth ring — 

Fill thou my soul with glee. 

Last night a dream had I, 

As slept I upon my bed; 

Thee saw, I passed me by. 

And after thee I sped. 

^Twas ^mong our lakes that boil 
^Neath Bowser s sunny clime; 

On Americans fairest soil. 

Where love is told in rhyme. 


1 14 Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man'' 


When said thou, you love me; 

Lost was gone my mind; 

Adore I, the track of thee 
My love for thee sublime. 

“Oh Jim, that’s fine.” 

“I am so glad you think so ; any way it is my 
heart you know. Susie, I found out about the 
carriage — why I couldn’t get it.” 

“Did you. I am glad you saved the money, 
but tell me about it.” 

“Not right now. Wait a while.” 

“Why not now?” 

“No. Wait.” 

“If you say so.” 

“Susie, I want to make an engagement with 
you.” 

Susie drew up, her heart beat faster. Like 
a flash a spark shot through her mind. She 
thought of her mother who was not necessarily 
prejudiced toward Jim, but she always wanted 
her daughter to marry a doctor or a preacher, 
or, as she used to say, “A big man.” Susie, 
for her part, loved Jim as David did Jonathan, 
with her whole soul, but how could she go 


/. Johnson; or "The Unknown Man' 




115 


agaiast her mother. The doctor had just been 
there that morning, and although her mother 
was very sick, he had relieved her, and in 
fact she was well, and as he always did chat 
so pleasantly, as she said, and there was some- 
thing in his very manners that she liked. 

‘‘Yes,” said Jim, “An engagement for Mon- 
day night. It may be a little late, about 8:30, 
at my home. Now, I will call for you.” 

“All right,” said Susie. 

“You will not have to stay so long,” said 
Jim. 

Susie seemed puzzled, but Jim was equally 
puzzled; therefore, he could not enlighten 
her, yet he felt that she was his best friend. 
There was the hook of love in her heart. The 
same hook was in his ; therefore, flutter as they 
may, some day they would be pulled upon the 
banks of matrimony. 


CHAPTER XX. 


Monday Night — The Mysterious Fluid. 

By the quick change of temperature that so 
often took place at Bowser, it would require 
an expert weather man to forecast what the 
weather would be within the next ten hours. 
The day looked for, Monday, the tenth day, 
had come. How slowly did time seem to drag, 
not only to Susie and Jim, but even to Uncle 
Jonah and Aunt Jane. Time always drags, it 
seems, to the young, who are full of vitality 
and anxious for certain days. To a child, 
Christmas never comes fast enough or, say, 
closing school day, or even birthday, but to the 
old, time flies. We hardly finish paying last 
Christmas bills before it is time to start all 
over again. The girl is budding fast into 
womanhood; the boy now tall as father; it 
seemed but yesterday when they were babies 
upon our knees. Everyone looked forward 
with a certain degree of expectancy. 

The day had come; Aunt Jane fasted as she 
needed special prayer to tide her over any 


116 


/. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man' 




117 


news of a sad nature. “Suppose,” said she 
within her heart, “That it might develop that 
this boy is a white child and, that if such is the 
case, the law would force upon us a separation 
at once,” and in her words, “I’m gittin’ old, 
now ; for years he has been my life. When my 
husband died, twenty-one years ago, de load 
was too much for me. We had been walkin’ 
down the lane of time for about fifty years, to- 
gether in slavery and in freedom; in Virginia, 
Carolina and Flurdy. In perfect love we lived 
together, and regretted it narry time to quit. 
When he died, sez I, ‘life ain’t worth livin’ ; I 
have tried many er time to die, but I had to 
wait fer de good Lord to call me. Sometimes 
Jonah console me, as he an’ my husband was er 
courtin’ me de same time, and one time I could 
hardly tell which I’d marry, den I married 
Jim. Now Jim died. I wasn’t dar, as he died 
at sea, and I seed him no more after a evening 
when he was gwine to his work, and he kissed 
me good-bye and up an’ sez, ^Jane, I don’t 
know when I kin git back, but ef I don’t git 
back. Heaven is mine.’ So I couldn’t marry 
no more. So a year after dat I finds dis boy. 


ii8 J. Johnson; or ‘‘The Unknown Man^ 


He woke up de spark in my breast. I sez, 
^ane, raise dat chile an’ some day he makes 
you glad.’ From de fuss day down to dis, he 
is like Joseph in Pharoh’s house — he bless de 
house and luck is mine. Before dat, I couldn’t 
git work sometimes, but atter dat I got plenty 
work — easy jobs and good pay. Now if he is 

taken away ” and she would kneel and 

pray and put her hands to her eyes as tears 
rolled down in floods: “Oh, merciful Marster 
Jesus, ef Jim is only white, ef he is taken from 
me, no more Ma Jane, no more my son! Ef 
he is taken. Lord, let me die that day.” Her 
groans, her love, would melt you to tears. 

Uncle Jonah thought lots, but said little. 
Sometimes he might have been caught shaking 
his head and saying to himself : “Five thousand 
dollars. Enough to buy a forty acre tract of 
land, ten mules and a wagon. I tell you it 
ain’t too late for a raccoon to wear a pleated 
bosom shirt.” 

Susie, in her expectation, thought possibly 
that Jim wanted to clinch their engagement; 
hence she didn’t know just how, as she said, 
“I can break the news to mother, for she 


/. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Mm^ 


seems to like that preacher and doctor mighty 
well. I don’t know what Jim is going to do, 
but I am quite certain that he doesn’t want to 
preach or mix pills, either.” 

Jim, in his expectation, thought that the best 
thing to do was to just wait, as he had missed 
the mark so many times here of late, that he 
thought the best thing to do was to just let 
things unravel themselves, or in other words, 
to not try to ‘^cross the bridge before reaching 
it;” as the old adage used to go. 

The day arrived. During the day the sun 
shone bright and warm, but as the sun went 
down the temperature grew warmer, the 
clouds became dark. Old Nimbus tried him- 
self; the thunder reminded one much of : a 
cloudburst; whenever it took a notion to rain 
at Bowser it rained. Sometimes all business 
ceased. The streets looked so deserted that 
night that the town appeared gloomy. Jim 
safeguarded himself against all disappoint- 
ment of carrying out the request of the letter, 
that he had received, by sending a machine for 
Susie. 

Susie’s mother regretted very much that 


120 /. Johnson; or *‘The Unknown Man' 


Susie had to go out in such weather, but after 
thinking over the matter, and as Susie had very 
much desired it, she permitted her to go. 

At one minute of nine, while Jim, Susie, 
Aunt Jane and Uncle Jonah were assembled 
about a bowl of water, Jim, with envelope in 
hand, wondering what to do next, and con- 
stantly referring to the letter for directions, an 
automobile rolled up bringing the Unknown, 
who still was decked with a red bandana about 
his neck, he stepped up and was admitted. 
He smilingly remarked, “Just in time, we will 
drop the letter in water and in a minute we 
will have its contents.” 

The crowd stood there with anxious eyes. 
I'he letter was emerged beneath the water. At 
first it appeared milk white, then a tint began 
to cover it, it turned yellow, then the words in 
every line stood forth in bold relief. 

The Unknown raised it up and held it be- 
fore the lamp, and after it dried, together they 
read: 


CHAPTER XXI. 


A Mother and Uncle Found — The Story 
OF A Father. 

85 Loubet Ave., 

Paris, France, March 20th. 

Dear Jim: — Ten days ago you read a letter 
at the tomb of your father, who twenty years 
ago was cut down in the flower of manhood. 
In order to relieve your mind, I will give you 
his name, which was Theo. Unoman. The 
name was a little hard for many people to 
pronounce, so he was generally called “The 
Unknown Man.” 

For a long time we lived in New Orleans, 
but when the yellow fever broke out there, we 
fled to Bowser. We had both contracted the 
fever, however, and when we reached Bowser 
it had developed. He took the black vomit, and 
when he took that we lost all hope. He alsa 
knew that his death was certain ; he called the 
doctor and nurses about him and said: “I am 
going to die, but I beg a favor of you. ■ Prom- 
ise me that you will grant it’ They all prom- 


121 


122 /. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man'' 


ised with tears in their eyes. Said he, my 
wife revives (and I have a presentiment that 
she will, and if she gives girth to a certain 
child), if it is a girl, name her Mary, for she 
shall be the mother of a great man, but if it 
is a boy child, he shall not be named. He shall 
be turned loose upon the chilly world of 
charity, but I want my brother to watch over 
him by helping him to help himself. Try 
him for twenty years, and if he proves worthy, 
let him stand upon my tomb and receive five 
thousand dollars ($5,000.00) and which 
amount shall be banked at once. This money 
is not to be paid in the presence of his mother, 
whom I hope at that time and on that day shall 
be at my father’s home in France. Other con- 
ditions are: If this boy proves worthy, he 
shall be given fifty thousand dollars upon his 
twenty-first birthday. On that day he is to be 
married, I hope, and if Aunt Jane and Uncle 
Jonah are alive (for at the door of Aunt Jane 
when he is a day old, he must be left). As 
they have courted so long, if they are married, 
or will get married, also give ten thousand 
dollars to them. Hoping that you will bear in 


/. Johnson; or ”The Unknoivn Man"' 123 


mind that I want this boy to name himself, or 
some one else to name him, as I want all iden- 
tity hidden from him as to the wealth and 
ancestry of the family. If he doesn’t bear my 
name it hardly matters, for I have always been 
called ‘The Unknown Man.’ Like Moses, he 
is to be a leader, like John the Baptist, he is 
from God; then he must come up in a new at- 
mosphere.” 

Your father ended his speech, fell back in 
his bed and died. I recovered from the fever. 
No one knew at Bowser except the Doctor that 
it was fever we had ; therefore, to allay the fear 
and prevent the spread of disease, the house 
was quarantined and the body of your father, 
my husband, was taken out in the garden and 
placed beneath the sod. As soon as I was well 
we left by night. You were born and Aunt 
Jane can tell the rest. The grave naturally 
would have aroused suspicion, but we bought 
the lot and suggested the idea that we would 
make it a park and raise a monument to the 
Captain Theo. Unoman, for fear that someone 
might suspect the grave we placed on it, “In 
honor or to commemorate the memory of one 
of daring deeds. 


124 J- Johnson; or "'The Unknown Man'' 


To watch over it we placed in the house D. 
S. Unoman, who was to see no one, but to stay 
in the house by night and day. Live to him- 
self, and when he went for the purchase of 
food to get it from neighboring towns and 
never meet anyone or be seen. Consequently, 
for a long time the people got the idea that the 
house was haunted and the news was generally 
whispered that an unknown man was seen 
about the place. 

One night a great storm came, the house was 
blown down and torn away and hence, the aim 
of the donors was consummated. A stranger to 
the Bowserians was in the city at the time and 
suggested the monument and the money came 
in a way that no one has ever been able to tell. 

The people forgot about the unknown man, 
but Jim, I am glad to tell you that this man 
always kept his eyes on you, and tonight, as you 
read this letter, remember that it is from the 
dearest one you have in the world. The Un- 
known Man will also give you a verbal mes- 
sage for me which I want you to carry out to 
the letter. 

Your loving mother, 

Theresa Unoman. 


/. Johnson; or ‘‘The Unknown Man 


125 


^^Now/’ said Unoman, “I have a special 
message for you. I have finished ; now, let me 
say, my work that I had to do. I promised 
your mother to look over you in a way, and to 
prevent any destruction or mishaps that might 
befall you. This I have done. This year my 
contract closes. I was to guard you for twenty 
years, and present the letters I delivered, after 
which my responsibility ended. I leave this 
year to join the ex-President’s envoy for Afri- 
ca, and I know not when I will return. I have 
a presentiment that I never will; nevertheless, 
it is my heart’s desire to go there, and if I 
should depart this life, like Cox, the mission- 
ary, 4et me die the death of the righteous and 
let my last end be like his.’ 

“Now I am instructed to inform you that on 
June I of next year, that your mother will ar- 
rive in New York on the Lusitania ; you. Aunt 
Jane—” 

“What!” responded Jim. “My mother alive 
and will be in New York.” 

“Yes,” said Unoman, “She is alive and will 
meet you in New York.” 

“Ah!” shouted Jim, “Is it possible? My 


126 J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


mother lives. Thank God that she lives, and 
she will meet me in New York?” 

“Yes,” said Unoman. “She lives, and let us 
pray that she has been kept secure from harm, 
that He will continue to keep her. Dear Jim, 
she loves you, but she was trying to carry out 
your father’s last request. You know not the 
heartaches, the pain, the sorrows, that must 
have come to her in order to carry out his re- 
quest, but so far to the letter, she has lived up 
to it. Will you meet her?” 

“Meet her?” said Jim. “My soul goes out 
to her tonight. My spirit will stand on Laubet 
Avenue, in Paris, and commune with her. She 
will know that it is her son and my sleep will 
be sweet as never before, for today I have two 
mothers, who, with their heart, shall call me 
^My son.’ ” 

“Now,” said the Unknown, “you will meet 
her, but will you know her?” 

“My mother?” said Jim. “I would know 
her ashes, if I should ever chance to get within 
view of that form. I will feel her presence. I 
will know her voice, for instinct itself will tell 
me that is my mother. Oh, I wonder how will 


J. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man'^ 127 


I feel, no tongue can express it, no pen can 
write it, or painter describe how a poor boy 
for twenty years, has drifted on the waves of 
time all alone, gazing, ever gazing at the hu- 
man barks that passed, searching, praying, 
looking and hoping to find his mother. I nev- 
er once felt that she was dead, but what my 
feelings were I know not. But, oh! to know 
that she lives, to look into her eyes and search 
for some likeness, some peculiarity that proves 
that that blood is blood of my blood, and bone 
of my bone; like Adam beholding Eve, my 
soul will be filled with ecstacy. 

“You will do this,” said Unoman. “Take 
this bandana and wave it at the ship as it ar- 
rives, and a lady will return the compliment 
with a red parasol, and upon landing, she will 
walk with the same in her left hand. By this 
you will know that such a one is your mother. 
Take this one and preserve and keep it until 
that day.” Saying this, Unoman gave Jim the 
red bandana that was about his neck, and at 
the same time he pulled another from his 
pocket. 

Jim took it and said, “I thank you from the 


128 /. Johnson; or ^'The Unknown Man'* 


depth of my heart. You have planted a seed 
of love in my heart for you that will ever re- 
main. Like the mighty palm, it will send its 
roots downward into an everlasting gratitude, 
and its branches will grow and spread into a 
thousand branches of friendship, bearing the 
fruit of reciprocity on every bud that shall 
stud the branches.” 

‘^Young man, give me your hand !” said Un- 
oman. ^‘You are a noble man and a true Uno- 
man, for among the sons of men, those who 
prove faithful to those who befriend them are 
unknown. As I behold you, I see more and 
more the big heart of your father. Captain 
Unoman, shining out in your countenance; a 
greater man, a more noble man, and a braver 
man never lived. As a man of means, no man 
ever came for help and went away hungry; he 
was a father to the needy and a succor to a 
hundred widows. He was a loving friend, but 
a fierce enemy. Along certain lines he was 
peculiar, but a greater Roman never lived. I 
noticed the other evening at the reception that 
your presence proved that you were a sun 
whose heart warmed the multitude with ardor. 


J. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man'' 129 


and held them with as much ease as Sol does 
his planets and satellites about him. If there is 
any difference in you and your father it is the 
inherited character of your mother, whose 
voice possesses an eloquence that has the ca- 
dence of a harp and is as sweet as a melophone. 

“Ah,” said Jim. “Can I wait a year, a 
whole year, to see my mother? Nay, how can 
I?” 

“Yes,” remarked Unoman, “You must wait.” 

“But,” ejaculated Jim, “It will look like an 
eternity.” 

“Nevertheless, promise me that you will not 
violate the contract, but that you will wait.” 

“If it was my father’s will and my mother’s, 
desire, I will abide the time.” 

“Give me your hand.” 

There on the porch of the cabin, where 
twenty years before the baby was found, in a 
basket, the two stood shaking hands. The 
storm was past, the stars shone bright, and 
every anon, the birds were heard whistling on 
the distant hill, while the cricket chirped from 
the walls; together in relation were they as 
they had been twenty years ago. Jim was that 


130 /. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man'' 


baby; Unoman was that man who placed the 
baby there. As they stood shaking hands, a 
tear settled in their eyes. 

Unoman said, “I leave tomorrow, but a let- 
ter I will give you, which tells the rest. I 
want you to read it alone, and think it over 
soberly with prayer and meditation. He bent 
over and kissed the brow of Jim and said: 
“Watch that doctor, but be a man.” In a 
whisper he said: “I am your uncle. Captain 
Unoman was my brother. Keep that, tell it 
not even to your best friend.” 

J im reached out his hands. “Oh ! My uncle ! 
I have ever thought that not a relative had I 
in all the world, but, are you here tonight? Do 
you breathe your breath upon my brow.” 

Unoman, as Jim uttered these words, van- 
ished into the dark. Jim returned into the 
house and in a little while, he and Susie were 
on their way to Susie’s home. Just as they 
passed the bank Jim looked towards the park, 
and for a few minutes stood there gazing. 
Tears rolled down his cheeks. He said, “Susie, 
come with me,” and upon his knees he fell. 


/. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man^^ 131 


He bowed his head against the marble and he 
said, “My father, dost thou sleep here?” 

Susie drew back and said, “Jim, pardon me; 
T must go.” 

Jim arose and followed. 

She stopped and said, “Did I understand 
you to say ^my father’?” 

Jim bowed his head and said, “I did. Oh! 
Susie, I know it all; he sleeps there.” 

Susie drew away from him. 

“Susie, don’t leave me,” said Jim. 

“But I must,” said Susie. 

The clock pealed forth and Jim realized 
that it was 10:30 o’clock. 

“Oh,” said Susie. “So late.” 

They walked to the door and then they bade 
each other good-night. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


Filling to the Full. 

While all these things were transpiring at 
Bowser, the preacher was under the treatment 
of Doctor Jones and the care of tender hands 
who gathered about the doctor’s home. The 
doctor, knowing as he did, that the disease was 
brought on by excitement, worry and care, ar- 
ranged a place at his home, for he knew that 
another such night at the minister’s home 
might mean death to the patient. For days the 
Rev. Slackam was a sick man. Sometimes de- 
lirious ; sometimes he did not know those about 
him, but always very sick. One day he sat up 
in his bed and made a confession. Said he: 
“It’s all over now. Last night I had a dream. 
I thought that conference was in session. I 
saw the men appointed, and saw another take 
my church. I wanted it, I contended for it, 
but it was gone ; I saw my enemies crowd upon 
me, a petition was offered against me; there 
was no hope for me. The man who led the 
crowd I could not see so well, but finally I saw 

132 


/. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man'' 133 


a young man walk through the crowd and 
seized the leader and brought him to me; this 
man held the paper of my removal. T looked 
into their faces; the man who fought me was 
Doc, and the young man who captured and 
brought him to me and exposed his plot was 
the young man I have hated without a cause. 
It was Jim.” The preacher stopped talking, 
burst into tears and said, as he fell back into 
the bed: “It’s all over, I will soon be gone.” 

The people said different things about him. 
Some said he had lost his mind. Others said 
he had resigned the church — he has given up 
hope — I can’t see how his hair got white — 
somebody has thrown a hand at him, others 
said. But the doctor said he would soon be 
all right. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


The Change in Love Affairs. 

As the days rolled by to the surprise of the 
community, the hand the doctor was playing 
with Susie was really marvelous. He and 
Susie were seen out together riding several 
times. All the young people began whisper- 
ing about the matter; the girl in pink became 
angry. The preacher, as he heard more and 
more about it, gained strength and all the 
young women were intensely proud of it, for 
they said: ^Tf the doctor gets her, it will give 
some one else a chance for Jim.” 

Jim did not call upon any of the other girls 
only in a cordial way, but the treatment re- 
ceived by him from Susie made him feel seri- 
ous. Jim had not told Susie of the five thou- 
sand dollar ($5,000.00) gift, but it had been 
whispered around among a few of the banker’s 
friends, and one day at dinner it dropped 
into the ear of a certain cook who spared 
no pains to circulate it, and while Susie had 
not heard of it, yet she had heard some 


134 


/. Johnson; or ^^The Unknown Man” 135 


mysterious things and had seen some that 
seemed to puzzle her very much. In a general 
way, some of the girls whispered, ^^He is as 
rich as Jay Gould, and as learned as old So- 
crates.’’ 

One day Jim received a letter from Susie 
that read as follows: 


Bowser, Ga., July 2^th, 

Dear Mr. Johnson: — 

This will inform you that I have yours to 
hand and contents duly noted. Sorry that I 
can’t accept your invitation for a ride to the 
picnic on Lake Jackson, as I am otherwise en- 
gaged. Hope that you are well and still suc- 
ceeding. We are all well. Say, I am glad to 
inform you that the bit of news you kept from 
me as to the team; I have heard all about it. 
They have falsely tried to lay it on Dr. Jones, 
but it is not so. I spoke to him about it and he 
denies it emphatically. I know that it is not 
he for he swears to me upon the honor of his 
dignity that not a word of it is true, and that 
you are the best friend he has in the world. 


136 /. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


You know Jim, the doctor is so good, and I 
know he would not tell a story. 

Your old schoolmate, 

Susie Smith. 

P. S. — The doctor and I are going fishing 
next week. Come and go with us. You and 
Elder Slackam might get a buggy and go 
along. By that time he will be up I am sure. 

When Jim received the letter and after 
learning the contents, he threw it to the floor 
and stamped on it. Said he: hate it, for I 

may not be able to fulfill certain desires of my 
mother, if things keep on at the rate they are 
going.” Jim did not go over to Susie’s, but 
wrote her as follows : 


Bowser, Ga., July 26th. 

Dear Little Girl : — 

I did not know that I loved you till that last 
letter of yours reached me. But now I find 
myself insanely in love with you. My poetry 
was but a sensual poet’s dream. The thought 
that splutters, or I might say, that bubbles 


/. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man” 137 


from my heart, but now I have been able to 
reason out my way in life, and as I reach the 
point, more and more I dream, only, dear 
Susie, of thee. May I add that there is one 
over the sea who is my guardian and star of 
hope in this life, and an inspiration of the life 
beyond. It is her request that my partner be 
just such a one as you. Now tell me, dear 
Susie, that you love me, say you love me and 
my life becomes one big effulgent ray of the 
great Divine. Say no, and my soul loses its 
brilliancy and heat and like an incandescent 
lamp whose fuse is gone, it becomes illumin- 
ous; yea, it is dead. 

Yours sincerely, 

Jim. 

When Susie received Jim’s letter, she spread 
it out beside the doctor’s. She said, “For my 
soul, I can’t tell which I love. Yes; I can, I 
love Dr. Jones. Once I loved Jim; once my 
highest ambition was to be his wife, and be- 
side him all men looked vain, as nothing; but 
since the night at the monument he has shat- 
tered my love. He no more gives me the feel- 


138 /. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


in his presence I used to have. To me now he 
seems a serpent from whose presence I dra\N 
away, and from whose touch I would flee ; yet 
he would continue to seek after me, draw me 
to him, haunt me; yea, conjure me, but how 
can I love him. A Negro loving such a man, 
a white man. My nature rises in revolt; it 
is unthinkable. Now Doctor Jones, I do not 
love, but he is so good and mother serves him 
as a god, and may not I, after all, let her 
choose for me, and if for no other reason than 
for mother’s sake.” 

One evening, long after the picnic trip, 
while Susie was alone meditating about her 
lover, a knock was heard at the door. It was 
Jim. She received him, but instead of ad- 
dressing “Jim,” as usual, in all her talk it was 
“Mr. Johnson.” In coldness she fairly breathed 
frost upon him, but this, instead of driving him 
away, only made him love her more intensely. 
With tears in his eyes he pleaded for her love, 
for a kind consideration, for just a promise to 
become his wife when he graduated, but to 
every request she said “No.” 

One time he drew near her to place his hand 



Page 138 




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/. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man'' 139 


upon her hand, and she bounded back as 
though he was a snail. He asked to be allowed 
to come around to take her to church, but this 
request was refused by finding some excuse. 

The doctor was often seen out with her and 
one time the preacher; however, she was only 
out with the preacher once. For as the boys 
were passing her and as they looked at the 
preacher’s grey hair they said, “Grandpa must 
be taking his little girl out for a walk.” The 
doctor heard about it and teased her more. The 
atmosphere changed and there seemed to be 
but four souls happy in Bowser: Aunt Jane, 
who had finally given Uncle Jonah a promise 
to marry him one month after Jim’s gradua- 
tion, and the others were Susie and Doctor 
Jones. Susie could not move for the doctor, 
and the doctor seemed to have been her count- 
erpart. 


8 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


In the Twilight. 

One evening Uncle Jonah was down to Aunt 
Jane’s, and he said, “Janie, I never seed any- 
thing so much like myself in my life. I no- 
ticed dat gal Susan was once crazy about Jim, 
and now she seems to forget all ’bouten him.” 

“Yes,” said Aunt Jane. “He is stirred all 
over about it, too. Sometimes he can’t hardly 
eat. For twenty years I have known him, but 
I have never seen him so fretted. He is a 
pining away like an old rooster I once had 
on de yard when he was left without a hen.” 

“Well,” said Uncle Jonah, “I was piddling 
around de yard over to the doctor’s the other 
day, and I hearn such a laughing, I keeps one 
year open and I hears him say to Susie: “Do 
you ’spect to be my wife?” She says :“I will 
think about it. My mother told you yes, but 
I will think ’bouten it.’ The doctor says : Wou 
will say yes, but you won’t, casin you gwinter 
marry Jim.’ Then what you reckon she says. 
She say: T wouldn’t marry Jim if he was the 


140 


/. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man'^ 141 


last man in the world. I used to love him, but 
sumpin’ has drived it away, jist like he is 
pizen.’ I sorter felt bad ’cose I know how like 
a dry pear with all the juice gone, how for 
fifty years my heart’s been, and now, in the 
last month since you says you will marry me 
next June, I feel like a kittle with syrup juice 
biling over.” 

Jim walked up and as he was approaching 
he heard the name of Susan, so he paused on 
the outside. He could not catch it all, but he 
heard the word pizen when he walked in. 
Uncle Jonah changed the conversation and 
said, “Yes, Janie, I think dat preacher was sho’ 
pizen, for his hair is white as er lock er cotton 
and he looks ole un I do. I notice one thing: 
he kin preach better dan he use ter — everybody 
says it. Dat doctor don’t seem to come outen 
sick er lot, and Susan don’t sing in de choir 
nigh so much. She seems ter be wonderin’ 
’bouten sumpun.” 

It was now just six thirty o’clock, but like all 
summer days, the sun seemed to hang around 
the hills till almost seven. Jim went as usual 


142 J. Johnson; or ‘'The Unknown Man' 


to pay his evening visit to his father’s grave. 
When he was returning home, to his surprise 
as well as joy, he saw Susie coming up Lemon 
Street. When he met her he tipped his hat 
and paused to greet her, and even ventured to 
go home with her, but she drew away from 
him and said: ^^Mr. Johnson, you will have to 
pardon me if I refuse.” 

Like an old man whose feet were heavy with 
years, he blundered or dragged his way home. 
He said, “Many people say that money brings 
joy, but with five thousand dollars in the bank, 
and the promise of fifty thousand more, it is 
not so. My days fly like a weaver’s beam and 
my soul seems to have dry rot.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


The Discovery of Self. 

The falling leaves and the dying grass 
painted by the grim hue of an Autumn sun 
brought to mind the fact that school was near. 

A line or two from Paris bore evidence of 
a loving mother beyond the sea, but there was 
some unknown affinity in Bowser that had 
eclipsed the love that he had for the one across 
the sea. One day he received a letter bearing 
the stamp of an elephant. It was from Africa. 
It was just a line or two. 

Dear Jim: — ^We are here. Colonel Roose- 
velt killed an elephant today and we shot at a 
lion. When he returns I think I will remain 
and spend the rest of my days among my 
people in Liberia, the Negro Republic. They 
may need me; at any rate, I need them. Pres- 
ident Barclay is yet in the chair and since the 
visit of the envoy from America, made up of 
Mr. Emmett Scott, of Tuskeegee, and others, 
and since they have adjusted that would-be- 


143 


144 J' Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


million-dollar loan that was such a burden, the 
Republic is on easy street. 

Yours as ever, 

Unoman. 

P. S. — Keep your eyes on that doctor, and 
if you ever need me, touch the cable. 

Up to the day that Jim left for school his 
love affairs with Susie got no better. He said, 

have ever heard that marriage was a lottery, 
now I believe every word of it; yet I love that 
girl. She is a pearl of great price to me. I 
would give all I possess and then work a thou- 
sand years if I lived that long, if she would 
just consent to be my wife.” 

Early one morning the train left Bowser and 
a lone passenger in the colored coach gazed 
out of an open window into the cold. After 
the rumble over hills and valleys and the 
change of conductors about four times, he was 
again in school. 

On that trip he found out things about him- 
self he never once thought before. He hated 
novels to a fault, but the first thing he bought 
and the only book he read was “The Girl I 


/. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man^^ 145 


Left Behind Me.” He devoured it. The por- 
ter went through the car whistling “You Big 
Old Baby Doll,” and Jim gave him a quarter 
to sing it over again. He had hardly regis- 
tered and found his room before he wrote 
Susie a whole letter of poetry. 

Susie read it and said, “What a babbler. I 
did not know there was such a gulf between 
the races. 

She answered him, but so chilly were the 
words. She said among other things: “Mr. 
Johnson, for years I thought I knew you, and 
in those days no name was so sweet, but I have 
been deceived. Of course it was no fault of 
yours, but let me add that you have been to us 
an unknown man. Please don’t blame me. 
My love for you has been warm, but in a single 
night the white frost killed it. You remember 
the night, that rainy night, as you knelt at the 
tomb. Please don’t think me hard-hearted, 
but only consider me as a foreigner and write 
no more. 

An old schoolmate, 

Susie. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


A Problem Harder Than Mathematics. 

Jim took the letter and read it a dozen times 
and shook his head at every reading. He said : 
“I would kiss a buck and dance a jig if I could 
guess her. I would feel like a lone Hottentot 
on the Ganges if I understood her.” 

He took out his mother’s letter that Uno- 
man, his father’s half brother, had given him, 
and read it again. 

Dear Son : This will inform you that your 
mother yet lives. I will be in New York on 
the first day in June. Meet me. Have Aunt 
Jane and Uncle Jonah come also, then together 
we will all attend your graduation. 

Your mother, 
Theresa Unoman. 

P. S. — Your grandpa sends love. 

“Well,” said he. “That letter to me has 
been a mystery when I think for twenty years 
T thought that mother Jane was my mother 
and I was an orphan, but this letter beats any- 

H6 


/. Johnson; or ‘'The Unknown Man^^ 147 


thing I ever saw. ‘Don’t write any more.’ I 
wonder does she think I will surrender like 
that. This is J. J. Unoman, and I wonder does 
she think a Unoman gives up so easily. I will 
write her tonight.” 

The mails of the next day bore away Jim’s 
letter and every word was a flame of love. 


CHAPTER XXVIL 


The Change of Name.— Dr. Blyden. 

Jim, after being in school a few days, took 
Unoman’s letters, the request of his father and 
those of his mother to the College President 
and had a heart to heart talk. 

“Ah,” said the President, “That often hap- 
pens.” 

“But,” said Jim, “How am I to change my 
name when I have been known as Jim John 
son?” 

“That is easy,” said the President. 

“My name is already in the catalogue.” 

“So it is ” 

“The people know me as Jim Johnson.” 

“Men often add a third name in school.” 

“I^m puzzled what to do.” 

“Suppose you sign it J. J. Unoman.” 

“That’s fine. Professor,” said Jim. 

“The request of your father looks strange,” 
said the President. “But I knew a Frenchman 
once who drew multitudes and he boasted that 
he hadn’t combed his head for thirty years. 


148 


J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man'' 149 


They are a little strange, but like the Germans, 
they are a great people. 

Unoman, his uncle, sent him a letter from 
Liberia in March that read as follows : 

Dear Jim : — 

I find Liberia, the Colored Man’s Republic, 
a dream, and a very pleasant dream and the 
highest realization of real progress. The tribes 
are numerous but progressive. I find that the 
book writers and the missionaries have always 
held up the dark side of the picture. They 
paint the African as ugly and lazy, but I find 
them very different. Of course they don’t have 
to scramble for a livlihood as they do over 
there in America, for you know everything 
here grows almost spontaneously. Say, how is 
your little love affair? I told you to marry 
Susie, but now I am sorry, for I see Via girls 
and Madingoes that I would rather see you 
marry that any woman in all of America. 

Never mind though, if you want to marry 
Susie, go ahead. Say, I never did tell you how 
I frightened that preacher of yours until his 
head got white and scared that doctor almost 


150 /. Johnson; or ^‘The Unknown Man' 


to death because they were plotting against 
you. 

I never thought once of marrying, but I 
have the fever bad. I may get me a Via or a 
Mandingo girl if I can. Women are mighty 
funny though. 

I met the great Dr. Blyden since being here 
and I must admit that he is the greatest man 
that I ever saw. I thought that your father, 
Theo., was a wonder, but this man Blyden 
speaks forty languages. All Europe is wild 
about him. I hope that some day you can 
meet him. If it was not that you were near 
the finishing in your school, I would get you 
to come and finish in the College of Liberia. 

Your uncle, 

D. E. Unoman. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


A Spark Through a Crevice. 

A letter was again sent to Susie, telling about 
the struggle of an unknown man with her 
lover, the doctor, and his close friend, the 
preacher. Susie read it and through the cre- 
vice of her soul she saw a spark, but yet the 
affairs of Jim were not bettered thereby. 

Jim made one hundred in his studies, but 
with Susie his marks dropped from forty to 
thirty and on down to ten and then to zero. 
His mixed blood was puzzled; so after study- 
ing for days he thought to give the whole mat- 
ter up as a big joke. 

One night while on his bed peeping through 
the lattice of discouragement he saw the glim- 
mer of a spark. Said he : “Susie has dropped 
me but I will not despair; I will try as Bruce 
did — once more. In the meantime I will write 
two letters at once. She calls me an unknown 
man. I will be one, indeed. I will write as 
Unoman. Two shots at the duck from differ- 


161 


152 /. Johnson; or ‘'The Unknown Man' 


ent angles. Jim’s letter I will not repeat, but 
you can see what Unoman wrote: 

Miss Susie Smith, 

Bowser, Ga. 

Dear Miss : — Please pardon my boldness, 
but by an unknown thread of circumstances I 
have come to write you. Mr. J. Johnson, your 
friend, who is mine also, has spoken from time 
to time so tenderly of you and never mentions 
you without saying that you are the noblest wo- 
man in all the world. He has made me love 
you, and you know he and I are the only col- 
ored students here out of nine hundred or 
more. I hope I am not proving unjust to my 
old chum who will finish school the same day 
I do; but how can I refrain from saying that 
I love you and will marry you tomorrow, if 
you say yes. 

Believe me to be sincere. 

Your obedient slave, 

J. J. Unoman. 

When Susie received the letter she was 
dumfounded. She knew not what to do. 


J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


153 


She sought the advice of her mother and her 
mother said that the doctor was good enough 
for her, but men were such cheats. 

Susie got the idea, “cheat,” so she wrote a 
line or two, then after another letter she wrote 
again. One letter after another and each one 
like a June melon, weekly grew longer. 

Of course, while Jim wrote the Spencerian, 
J. J. Unoman wrote the vertical. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


Jim Finds Out That He is White. 

One April morning when the mails reached 
the students, Jim was busy working on his ora- 
tion. Out of the large number of graduates, 
he was one of the eight selected to speak. The 
postman gave him a letter and at a glance he 
saw that it was from Susie. It had been a 
long time since Jim had heard from her, but 
as Unoman got a line every now and then, he 
was not so badly disturbed in mind. This let- 
ter apparently woke him up. However, he 
read: 

Dear Mr. Johnson: — 

Pardon my folly, if you so construe it, but 
today I am returning in a separate package all 
of your letters. Please do me the kindness to 
return mine or destroy them. If you would 
inquire my motive I would simply say that I 
am a Negro and you are white, an Anglo-Sax- 
on, Irish, Italian, or Spaniard or Swede, I 


154 


/. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


155. 


know not and care less. It is enough for me 
to know that you are white. 

And no Negro woman desires inter-marri- 
age of any kind, legal or illegal, with a white 
man. To the women of my race, such a thought 
is odious. I know you have written that we 
might go to Europe, but believe me, I would 
not marry a white man if he were as rich as 
Croesus or the King of ten Empires. I pre- 
fer rather to marry a poor ditch-digger with a 
single shirt to his back. In this epistle I voice 
the sentiment of the women of ten million of 
sable sons and daughters living in America. 
Like the many other white men of your race^ 
you are my enemy, and I am yours. 

Susie Smith. 

Jim turned as red as a beet and got up and 
walked the floor for an hour. He said to him- 
self, “I am white? It is an infamous lie! If 
I thought so I am deceived. I have a work to 
do. God has especially raised me up to do. 
My father has endowed me with money for it. 
I can hardly get out of school soon enough be- 
fore my paper will paint the story of a down- 


156 /. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man' 


trodden race, that will startle the world. I 
white! When ten millions of my race are 
ground beneath the heel of the oppressor, 
when daily they are rushed out of the courts to 
the chain gang without a scintilla of evidence. 
1, white! When for twenty years I have cried 
my eyes red when every week the papers tell 
the story of a black man hanged to a tree and 
his body riddled with bullets of a hundred 
rifles. Lynched, lynched, killed, murdered, 
assassinated, and under the dome of the State 
Capitol. I white, when my race needs me and 
within one year the rattle of my press will be 
heard, and daring head lines will cry to the na- 
tions of the world to help a righteous cause. 
Let Susie marry whom she pleases, and let me 
live to the age of Noah and fill a bachelor’s 
grave, but not once, nay, never let me try to 
pass for white or try to leave my race. I will 
write to her today and settle the matter once 
for all. What man can better voice the senti- 
ment of a race than a man of that race? The 
white man may lift his voice for and in our 
defense, but it requires a Moses to feel the 
heart pangs of an Israel. The white man may 



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/. Johnson; or ‘^The Unknown Man" 


157 


spend weary nights pleading our cause, but 
who can sing the weird songs of the wailer bet- 
ter than the one who is crushed beneath the 
heel of the oppressor? And yet, Susie thinks 
I am white and playing the roll of an imposter. 
It will be settled once forever. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


Doctor Jones Never Sleeps. 

When Jim returned to school, notwithstand- 
ing that he often heard from Aunt Jane and 
Uncle Jonah, the news was limited — always 
the same : “We are well and hope you are the 
same. Study hard, be a Christian, don’t back- 
slide.” 

In the meantime the doctor was elated over 
his success, but Susie was rather slow about 
granting his request to become his wife, so he 
searched the recesses of his mind to learn the 
reason for the delay. 

One day he learned through some of the 
other girls that Susie had heard that Jim was 
white ; hence, you know the rest, but she doubt- 
ed it, and before making another move she had 
to be satisfied on that score. 

In a way yet to be known, he drew her out 
on the question and then sought to aid her in 
the investigation. It was not long before he 
returned with the news that Jim’s mother was 
in Europe, that she was married; his father 


158 


/. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man'' 159 


was a millionaire, and to hide the scandal had 
given a hundred thousand dollars. That Jim 
would go to Europe after graduating and that 
he would soon forget that the Negro race ex- 
isted. 

Susie, blinded by prejudice of color and 
race, which is as prevalent on one side as the 
other among black and white, believed every 
word of what the doctor said without a single 
minute of investigation. Her love at once 
passed away and hatred came into her heart 
ten fold. She told her mother about it and her 
mother said she had always heard it. 

In the meantime, the doctor pushed his 
claim, got Susie to return Jim his letters, and 
before they had gotten as far as New York he 
got Susie’s mother to give a party and to pub- 
licly that night, declare their engagement. He 
wanted the date set in May, but Susie pre- 
ferred September. After a long hum and 
haw, as Uncle Jonah afterwards put it, they 
settled on July 15th. The next day when he 
met the preacher, he said: “Reverend, the 
thing is fixed. Susie is mine.” 

The preacher, who felt that his punishment 


i6o J. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man' 


had already been more than he could stand, 
and who yet peeped out the side of his eyes for 
the Unknown Man to return at any moment, 
simply bowed his head. 

The town began to get ready for the event, 
and all the girls said that it was about what 
they expected. Said they : J im may be white, 
but I can’t believe that ghost story. He is too 
kind to be anything but colored. The news 
managed to stay out of reach of Uncle Jonah 
and Aunt Jane, and thus one thought Doctor 
Jones congratulated himself on, that ‘‘Doctor 
Jones never sleeps.” 

Jim's Letter and His Anxiety. 

For a day after Jim received the letter of 
Susie’s and the return of all his correspond- 
ence with her, he was like a young lion just 
caged. He walked the floor of his room, he 
pushed his hands into his pockets, he would 
blow, and so absorbed in this affair was he that 
he could hardly do anything but think of Bow- 
ser, Georgia. On the third day after he re- 
ceived it he managed to compose his mind, so 
he wrote as follows : 


/. Johnson; or *‘The Unknown Man^^ i6i 


Boston, Mass., April 20th. 
Mtss Susie Smith, 

Bowser, Ga. 

Your very interesting letter received, and I 
need not tell you how interested I was to learn 
the facts related to me about by nativity and^ 
blood. Dear Susie, it was not just yesterday 
when we first met, but I have known you for 
years. We rambled the hills and played the 
creeks together, and many years ago in a 
play together we were crowned king and 
queen. Now in all these years, dear Susie, 
consult your memory and see if you have ever 
known me to be false or my actions to belie 
my words. You say I am white and that it is 
odoius to think of a colored woman marrying 
such a man. For that statement alone you have 
endeared yourself ten fold to me. Susie, be- 
lieve me to be not any other than a poor sable 
son of Africa. It is true that I am a mixed 
blood of French and Spanish ancestry. If you 
don’t know it, you must know it, that it matters 
not if it is Negro how little of it touches any 
other blood, it turns it immediately to Negro. 
Now, if you doubt that I am a Negro, I can 


i 62 /. Johnson; or ”The Unknown Man' 


prove my racial identity beyond the shadow 
of a doubt. Susie, Providence is so gracious 
and so good, praise His name; if five years, if 
two years ago, if eight months ago I had been 
called upon for this proof I would have been 
unable to produce the facts, but now I am fully 
able to meet my pursuers and destroy my ene- 
mies. If I wanted to pass for white, my hair, 
my color and my brogue favor it, but pray, tell 
me, what would I gain? If I have ever tried 
to take the advantage of my color for any spe- 
cial privilege, or under any circumstances, I 
don’t know it. Now, Susie, I love you, but if 
you do deny me this, highest of my soul’s crave, 
deny me not at least one privilege to establish 
the truth and to make my enemies false. Be- 
lieve me to speak from my heart. 

Sincerely yours, 

Jim. 

P. S. — Remember me to Mother Jane and 
Uncle Jonah. 

When Susie received Jim’s letter, she was 
entertaining a few of her girl friends. One of 
the girls took the letter from the postman and 


/. Johnson; or *'The Unknown Man” 16 ^ 


saw “Boston, Mass.,” on the stamp mark, so 
she shouted, “From Jim, I bet you a penny!” 
Susie’s engagement was generally known and 
the reason for her break with Jim, therefore 
the girls were not at all surprised to see Susie 
toss it out the window without opening it. One 
of the girls said, “Susie, you say he is white, 
but I don’t believe a word of it. White people 
act differently from Jim. I don’t believe it. 
I believe that is a frame-up to reach certain 
ends, so if you don’t mind it I am going to read 
the letter, and if you don’t care, I am going to 
answer Jim myself for you.” 

Susie consented and the letter was read. As 
line after line was read, Susie became more 
and more interested, and finally she was so 
interested in the argument that Jim made, that 
she decided to write and apologize. The 
girls were so pleased at the turn that they 
shouted “Bravo! Susie, Bravo! That’s right; 
use common sense, suspend judgment, and if 
he can prove his racial identity, give him a 
chance.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


A Ray of Hope. 

The advice of the girls had its effect on Susie 
and she decided to write and give Jim a 
chance. Her letter went through due course 
of mail; Jim received it, his mind was greatly 
relieved and he answered her immediately, 
stating that he would fix the date when all 
proof would be established. Susie began to 
again act chilly towards the doctor, who daily 
pressed his claims. Her mother felt alarmed 
over it and said that she could not understand 
her own child. Occasionally Susie sought out 
Aunt Jane and Uncle Jonah, but never thought 
once to discuss with them this all-absorbing 
question. 

The preacher went to the conference and 
was returned. The summer was now almost 
on and Bowser put on a flowery dress. Uncle 
Jonah occasionally reminded Aunt Jane that 
the time of the marriage was close at hand. 
Aunt Jane seemed to feel like deferring it so 
she finally got him to agree to put it off until 


164 


J. Johnson; or “The Unknown Mian^ 


166 


Jim graduated and settle down, which would 
not be earlier than August or September. 

One day in May, as Uncle Jonah was call- 
ing on Aunt Jane, Aunt Jane startled him by 
saying, “Jonah, what you reckon, I jist got a 
letter from Jim wid a hundred dollars and two 
tickets.” 

“What dat, now?” said Uncle Jonah. 

“Wy, dat boy wants us to go to New York.” 

“What you gwine do dar?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Wy, you will git lost in New York fo’ you 
git two blocks,” said Uncle Jonah. “I heard 
ole master in slave times talk ’bouten how he 
went dar and de men picked his pockets.” 

“Yes, Jonah, Ise been a-prayin’ over dat 
ting. I jist dunno how we gonna work it.” 

“Did Jim say he would meet us?” said 
Uncle Jonah. 

“Yes,” said Aunt Jane, “He sez he would 
meet us at de train.” 

“Well, Oman, what you ’fraid of? I wuz 
powerful ’fraid at fust, but since he will meet 
us, we can jist pend on sich a boy like Jim.” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


Uncle Jonah in New York. 

The day arrived and all the town of Bowser 
seemed to have been at the station to bid Aunt 
Jane and Uncle Jonah goodbye. Several said, 
“Tell Jim that we still love him and to come 
as soon as he can.” 

“Yas,” said Aunt Jane, “He sez he wants to 
go to Canidy and around a little after he grad- 
uate, but Ise nea’ly scared to death that this 
train will jump off de track.” 

“ ’Tain’t gwine jump no whar,” said Uncle 
Jonah and laughed, “Ha! Hal Ise ride on a 
train second year after freedom ’dared and we 
killed a cow, but nobody was hurtin.” 

The doctor was down but the parting seemed 
a litle too much for Susie. She assisted Aunt 
Jane in getting ready and even cooked some 
nice things and sent to the train, but to go down 
to the train, notwithstanding that the doctor 
had begged her to go, she refused. In her 
room, however, one, upon careful examina- 
tion, might have discovered a tear drop. The 


166 


J. Johnson; or ”The Unknown Man^^ i6y 


train departed and out of the windows gazed 
Uncle Jonah and Aunt Jane. Every time the 
train blew loud or passed through a tunnel, 
Uncle Jonah would draw up and remark, 
Janie, don’t git scared ; tain’t gwine hurt you.” 

One day about six o’clock the train pulled 
into the Pennsylvania depot in New York. 
Jim was there to receive Uncle Jonah and 
Aunt Jane. Uncle Jonah said to Jim: “Boy, 
why you have so much police here ; looks like 
dar’s a dozen in de station. 

“Uncle Jonah,” remarked Jim, “There were 
only three police in the station. Those other 
fellows you saw were porters.” A cab soon 
hurried them over to their rooms and about 
three o’clock they were at the boat landing. 

“Janie, you know,” said Jonah, “’Pears like 
to me that a body ud git hurt here? Say, sonny, 
how you reckon dey ever git de mortar up dar 
to build dat house? Ha ! Ha ! Dis is sho’ New 
York.” 

Aunt Jane whispered, “Jonah, you make too 
much noise; you are jist like a rabbit or a par- 
rot.” 

“Now, Janie, I bet de mayor of dis town 
dunno what possum huntin’ is.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


Mother and Son. 

Standing on the pier at New York in a sin- 
gle hour one can count over five hundred ferry 
boats, row boats, yachts, steamers, schooners. 
Napthas and ships pass. 

The Hudson seemed one big ant nest that 
is worked up with living monsters that ply the 
deep. Turning from the river view that 
seems one big mirror portraying a city be- 
neath its banks, one is impressed with the 
babble of all nations and kindred, who have 
brought their language, dress, and customs 
from Egypt, Turkey and Italy, China, Ire- 
land and other countries beyong the creek and 
dumped them down into New York. 

There are more colored people on 53rd St, 
in New York than the population of some 
whole cities down South. For one to stand on 
Broadway, they can see one multitude of hu- 
manity, that jostle, crowd, and press together, 
forming a line over three miles long, all of 
this was so interesting to Uncle Jonah. 


168 


J. Johnson; or '[The Unknown Man' 


169 


As the crowd thronged the pier, the ships 
heaved in sight at Ellis Island. The baggage 
was carefully inspected. Now the passengers 
were eyeing New York City, everybody wav- 
ing. Jim’s eyes were bulging to see her, finally 
a red parasol was seen. Jime waved the ban- 
dana; it was answered. The woman leaning 
on the arm of a man about sixty-two years old, 
with a red parasol in her left hand, came down 
the gang-plank. Jim met them. No pen can 
paint the meeting of a mother and son on such 
an occasion. She said : “ J im, you look so much 
like Theo. Got his eyes. Father, you notice 
he even walks like him. This is Uncle Jonah 
and Aunt Jane that I am so much indebted to. 
Have you married yet? I am so glad to see 
you. Say, Jim, where is she?” 

^Who, mother?” 

“Your wife.” 

“I can’t imagine.” 

After a few passing hours in New York the 
train hurried them over to Boston. The day 
rolled around for the close of school. Jim is- 
sued invitations to a few friends and among 
them, one went to Susie. The different friends 


170 /. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man' 


at Bowser sent little tokens of respect, but to 
Jim’s surprise he received no reply at all from 
Susie. Jim, in his oration, made a great im- 
pression, just as we expected. 

In a few days they were off on a trip for 
Buffalo and then to Niagara and Montreal. 
Their plan was to go to Bowser about August 
I St, and launch his paper. Susie had refused, 
as he understood, to answer his letter, granting 
the day for him to establish his proof; there- 
fore, he had given it all up and decided to let 
things drift. Aunt Jane and Uncle Jonah felt 
anxious to return to Bowser, consequently all 
scenery and beauty of Canada and the United 
States became uninteresting. Jim, to please 
the old people, after consulting his mother, 
bought their tickets and sent them home. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


A Mother Stirred. 

One day while sitting in a park in front of 
the Public Library in Chicago, Jim said: 
“Mother, I have a bit of news for you.” The 
mother, of course, was glad to hear her son 
at any time, so she said: “Jimmie, I am all at- 
tention, say on.” 

Jim tried to relate it, but found himself 
unable to talk. Finding himself not able to 
say what he wanted, he fished the letter from 
his pocket that had informed him so much 
about himself and future plans. As she took 
the letter and read it, all her French and Span- 
ish blood mixed with hot African blood boiled. 
She said: “Jimmie, it’s an enemy, but I can 
vindicate you ; as far back as I know my people 
are Creoles and your grandfather will tell you 
that, while he is a bright Creole, yet his wife 
and your father’s mother was as dark as Aunt 
Jane. 

“Mother, is that so?” 

“Yes ; every word of it.” 


10 


171 


172 /. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


“Can we prove it?” 

“Prove it? Why, we have never posed as 
anything but Negroes.” 

“Indeed!” 

“Yes; Creoles have never tried to be any- 
thing else. Of course, we live in France and 
France has never had color phobia. She re- 
spects her subjects regardless of complexion. 
Why, one of her greatest writers was a Negro, 
but we only knew him as Dumas. We think 
not of your foolishness over there; we are too 
busy for it. Paris, as you may know is the hub 
of the world. Everything moves around it, 
and all fashion depends upon it. There are 
thousands of negro soldiers there right from 
the heart of Africa.” 

“What are we to do?” said Jim. 

“What day is this?” asked his mother. 

“June 20th/’ said Jim. 

“Well, call that automobile and make the 
telegraph office at once.” 

“What are we going to do, mother?” 

“We are going to cable Dimmey, in Liberia, 
to make it direct to Bowser,” said his mother' 

“Can he make it?” 


/. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man” 173 


^‘Direct it to the Secretary of State and also 
send one in care of Prof. Blyden; they will 
find him, and he will come, unless a mishap.” 

While the cables were being delivered to Li- 
beria, Bowser was all a-stir over the wedding 
that was soon to take place. Susie called on 
Uncle Jonah and also on Aunt Jane, but said 
«he regretted so much that she had not heard 
from Jim, and especially as he had requested 
her to let him do a certain thing, which, no 
doubt, would be worth much to the commun- 
ity, and especially to Jim. Aunt Jane told of 
her trip and said that she was positive that Jim 
had sent an invitation to Susie and to be cer- 
tain she would ask Uncle Jonah about it. 
Uncle Jonah told Susie of how he had seen 
Jim write several letters to her; how he had 
mailed Jim’s invitation with his own hands. 
All this seemed strange to Susie as to the cor- 
respondence between them, and especially 
when Jim and Susie were looking to hear from 
each other in reply to certain questions. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


How A Kroo Boy Delivered a Cablegram. 

Mrs. Theresa Unoman cabled to her broth- 
er-in-law requesting him to come at once. In 
jusCa few minutes it had reached Monrovia, 
Liberia, and both the Secretary of State and 
Dr. Edward W. Blyden sent messengers out 
in search of D. E. Unoman. It so happened 
that for five days Unoman had been up in the 
Hinterland ; he had just made a visit to Kiatip- 
poo, a noble old African King who had been 
reigning for years. From there he was push- 
ing his way out among the Mandingoes, study- 
ing their method of smelting gold and silver. 

The Kroo set out for him, and using the 
wireless telephone to reach him; from tribe 
to tribe it sounded until finally he was located. 
Then they sounded the message back. In 
twenty hours, not stopping night or day, a 
change of Kroos had borne him in a hammock 
to Monrovia. 

It so happened that the Steamship Orion, of 
the Werner Line, one of the fastest grey- 


174 


/. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man' 


175 


hounds of the deep, was bound for Gremany. 
The cable stated that we must try to make 
Bowser not later than August ist. 

Unoman, in the quickest manner possible, 
hurried on to the College of West Africa to 
bid the President good-bye; and also to Li- 
beria College, where he shook hands with Dr. 
Blyden, and in a little while had taken his 
berth, and the ship set off for Europe. 


CHAPTER XXXVL 


The Girl in Pink Befriends Jim. 

Is there not, after all, a something that binds 
men together by a kindred feeling? You think 
of a friend, and, notwithstanding you have not 
seen him for days, and he appears. 

When Jim got all worked up over his letter, 
and the meeting of Susie, to establish his iden- 
tity. While they were sending the telegram 
across the waters, at that very moment Uncle 
Jonah was given a wedding invitation of Susie 
and Doctor Jones, by the girl in pink that we 
previously read about, who played such a role 
at the party. She surmised by the trifle of 
news that Jim was kept in the dark and that 
the doctor had “thumbed his cards and loaded 
his dice.” She therefore secured an invitation 
at the earliest moment and hurried it to Uncle 
Jonah, ready stamped, secured the address of 
Jim, and mailed it immediately. 

When Jim received it he had already re- 
ceived the cable from Dr. Blyden stating that 
Unoman was now on the high seas and in a day 


176 


/. Johnson: or ‘'The Unknown Man'' 177 


or two would be in Madeira; if he wanted to 
wire him he might reach him at Canary Is- 
lands, as the ship made but two stops before 
reaching South Hampton. 

Jim received the letter with the invitation 
in it and these few words from Uncle Jonah, 
‘^Come at once, if you kin, cose you are needed 
sorter bad. Janie is well. She sez we kin 
marry in September. Susie sez she has not 
hearn a scratch from you in I dunno when. 
She has sent you several letters.” 

The wedding invitation was printed on linen 
paper with a miniature picture of Dr. Jones 
and Susie on the opposite corners at the top 
with the wording below setting forth the hour 
and day, July 15th. 

“Ah,” said Jim. “Susie hasn’t heard from 
me, nor I from her and have been writing all 
the time, and she is now to be married. Yet, 
I have heard nothing. I see the whole plot. 
Where does that doctor intend to stop? I will 
leave tonight for Bowser.” 

His mother was told his intention and as- 
sented at once, but his grandfather disagreed 
with the plan. He suggested that they would 


178 J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


cable Unoman to cross from the Canary Is- 
lands by New York, and by all possible haste, 
try to be at Bowser by the 1 5th of July. 

In the meantime he said: ^^I know the old 
doctor that attended your father and mother. 
He was present at your father’s burial. He 
is now at Tampa. I saw his name today in 
the locals of the Tampa Daily Times, pub- 
lished in that city. It has been twenty-five 
years since we met, but he sent me a very sym- 
pathetic letter on the death of my son, and es- 
pecially so, when we consider that he is a 
white man and we are colored and the preju- 
dice of the race that exists.” 

^‘Grandpa, do you think that he will come?” 
asked Jim. 

^Tf he’s well enough.” 

“Well! We will have him by all means,” 
said Jim’s mother. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


Cut the Wire and Stop the Current. 

When Susie’s mother saw that Susie was 
about to toss Doctor Jones overboard again, 
she called the doctor into question to ascertain 
what night be done. 

The doctor couldn’t decide at once, but, said 
he : “We will think it over and see can we find 
a way out.” 

The mother said: “Susie, why do you act 
so foolish. Doctor Jones is an able man; why 
not marry him? There is no need to fret about 
Jim. Have you not heard what the doctor 
said he found out?” 

Susie: “Mother, I can’t love that doctor. I 
am going to give Jim a chance. If he can 
prove his racial identity, I would rather marry 
him though he had both legs cut off and no 
arms than to marry that great hypocrite of a 
doctor.” 

The mother shook her head, but said noth- 
ing. 

The next day when she and the doctor met. 


179 


i8o /. Johnson; or ‘'The Unknown Man' 


he walked up smiling: have it,” said he, 

‘^You know Susie, as a rule, always mails her 
letters at that box opposite your house. Well, 
I have arranged with the mail carrier, and he 
has promised to always forget to take out any 
mail addressed to Jim until after the wedding 
or thereabouts. What do you think of the 
scheme?” 

“Fine,” said Susie’s mother. “You have 
such an able brain. Susie is a fool, or any 
other girl, who would refuse the hand of a 
man like you. Say, but how about his letters 
coming to Susie?” 

“We can fix that,” said the doctor. “Inform 
the mail man that you and Susie are out so 
much that to send your mail to number 120 
Lemon Street instead of Duval Avenue. Of 
course, you know, that is where I board. I 
will do the rest. Have no more fear. I will 
cut the wire and that will stop the current. I 
think we have it now.” 

“Ah, you are so noble!” remarked Susie’s 
mother. “I wish I could call back ten years.” 

The reader can surmise now, why Jim never 
received any more mail from Susie, and why 


/. Johnson; or “The Unknown Man'' i8t 


Susie failed to get his graduating invitation 
and other letters. 

Doctor Jones not only led the town of Bow- 
ser in society, but kept posted on all lines. He 
allayed the fear of the preacher by informing 
him on good authority that the Unknown Man 
was in Africa and was there to stay. “He,” 
said the Doctor, “Has pilfered us out of our 
cash, old beat! He is a fake! But I have 
achieved my victory without him.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


The Preparation. 

As the days rolled by all preparations were 
made for the wedding. The doctor wanted a 
house wedding, but Susie preferred a simple 
church wedding, with as little red tape as pos- 
sible. 

She selected her dress and her bridemaids 
and flower girls, who busied themselves getting 
their dresses made. 

The doctor ordered a long black suit from 
Sears, Roebuck & Co., of Chicago, and even 
the preacher had to get him a new suit. 

The day arrived, July 15th. The wedding 
was to take place at night. The night before 
Susie had cried most of the night, and once 
hit on the plan of running away to keep from 
marrying the doctor. 

Bowser was one of those peculiarly located 
towns as is found in many of the states. The 
postoffice was Bowser, Georgia, but the town 
straddled the line of Georgia and South Caro- 
lina. The church, by location, was in South 


182 


J. Johnson; or ”The Unknown Man' 


183 


Carolina. Susie lived over the line and ’svas in 
South Carolina, while the doctor, living but 
two blocks away, lived in Georgia. In that 
particular town, those who lived in Georgia 
had to secure a license to marry. Those who 
lived over the line might have the preacher or 
notary marry them and then write the license 
afterward. 

The doctor trusted no mistakes, so he se- 
cured his papers for the marriage. Elder 
Slackam was selected to tie the knot. 

The day was beautiful ; it was a typical July 
day, the atmosphere was clear and sultry, and 
flowers perfumed everywhere. Every laudau, 
buggy, automobile and carriage was employed 
for the occasion. The trains coming in at 
seven-thirty brought crowds from neighboring 
towns, for Doctor Jones was marrying the 
belle of the town, and besides, he was well 
known and had issued one thousand invita- 
tions. Said he: want to show the folks at 

Bowser what society is, and the way we do at 
my home.” 

‘^Some of the people said: “That old doctor 
is as proud as a peacock. He is a humbug. I 
hate to think about him.” 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


The Wedding.— The Cloud Like a Man's 
Hand Becomes a Mighty Storm. 

At 7:30 o’clock that night, people were 
crowded all about the church windows, and 
when the train arrived the crowd was greatly 
increased. The marriage was fixed at 8 p. m. 

At 7:55 p. m., among the many automobiles 
that rolled up, a big red Winston Six stood 
among the trees. The big electric lights seemed 
very attractive. A large number of people filled 
every available space in the church except the 
aisles, which, under the new law for public 
buildings, had to be kept open. Two seats in 
the main building had been arranged for 
whites. These were separated with a cord of 
white ribbon that showed to what extent the 
Jim Crow law of the South was being carried. 

As the preacher reached the side door the 
music started. His white hair against his 
smooth oiled skin and black broadcloth made 
him look like some old rich philosopher. His 
step was steady, his appearance saintly. He 


184 


/. Johnson: or ”The Unknown Man' 


185 


held a little black book that contained a golden 
streamer a foot long, that separated between 
the leaves of the ceremony. He walked to the 
altar. 

The flower girls came in, all arrayed in 
white, and as the flowers dropped from their 
hands, they looked like one big lily shedding 
its leaves. 

The next was a little tot dressed like Cupid, 
carrying a bow and arrow, a gold ring hung 
on the spear thereof, and its glitter was only 
eclipsed by the two golden wings of Cupid 
that stood out about two feet as though every 
minute he was fixing to fly. 

The groom came in the side door that op- 
ened for the preacher. His dress was faultless. 
One woman remarked: “It fits him like the 
paper on the wall.’^ Another said: “He looks 
like a duke.” Still another said: “He looks 
more like a coachman.” 

The bridesmaid entered, then the best man 
came down the aisle with Susie leaning on his 
arm. 

Under a big rainbow decorated with flowers 
and ferns and lighted with little electric bulbs 


i86 J. Johnson; or ^'The Unknown Man' 


of different colors so finished with paper of a 
different shade, that when it was lighted, it 
presented the variegated colors of a thousand 
hues. 

The bride and groom stood under the rain- 
bow. Just as the bride passed in, the crowd 
pushed in behind. A tall old white man, wear- 
ing glasses, about seventy years old, walking 
by the side of a corpulent man cleanly shaven 
and about sixty years old, came in. Behind 
them a young white fellow with long red mus- 
tache and whose hair was red, and much re- 
sembled in cut the pictures that we sometimes 
see of Shakespeare, entered. A little white 
woman wearing a long veil, and who possibly 
would not weigh more than a hundred pounds. 
She was leaning on the arm of the young man. 
Like the bride and groom, their attire was 
faultless. They took the seats reserved for 
whites with the Jim Crow ribbon decoration 
thereon. 

Uncle Jonah and Aunt Jane, getting in late, 
were puzzled to find a seat. The sexton, see- 
ing one of these reserved seats yet unoccupied, 
led the grand old couple up and gave it to 


/. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man"' 187 


them, and did in church what those in author- 
ity often do in railroad cars and stations — vio- 
lated the law. 

Over in the corner a big dark fellow with 
two other men, carrying extra large bouquets of 
jessamine vines and roses, had found seats. As 
the wedding progressed; it was the all absorb- 
ing one thing; the people heard nor saw noth- 
ing else. 

When the minister reached that passage: 
^‘Has any one any objection that these two 
people ought not to be joined together, if so 
let him now speak or else forever hereafter 
hold his peace.” 

A voice from three different parts of the 
house cried : “I object.” The sound was thun- 
derous. 

The minister stopped reading; the people 
looked around and so excited seemed the audi- 
ence that it looked like a dozen people object- 
ing at the same time. 

The bride caught the voice, she knew, of 
one, and raised her veil and with her piercing 
eyes was searching the house. The groom had 


i88 /. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Man' 


turned and was looking in every direction, as 
were also all the actors. 

One of the persons who objected was the 
judge who issued the license. He was in the 
gallery. He walked down the aisle, and as he 
approached the altar he said. “Don’t be 
alarmed, I simply came as a witness, and as 
this is the place under the law that it will be 
of value, I come at this opportune time.” 

Uncle Jonah, hearing so many objections, 
walked out and as he approached the altar, he 
said: “My ’jection is dat you. Doctor Jones, 
force a gal to marry you by ’triving to keep 
her letters from reaching de man she loves and 
in doin’ root work, you ’stand me?” 

Doctor Jones said: “I don’t know what you 
are talking about, old man. This girl has 
never desired to marry any man in the world 
but me. What letters?” 

The judge said : “I can’t well be a witness 
and judge both, so I will ask the entire audi- 
ence to judge these statements and the minis- 
ter might be the jury, and if he thinks that the 
objections are not reasonable, he can continue 
with the ceremony.” 


J. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man' 


189 


Another minister, who was sitting in the 
pulpit said: “That’s fair, let us have it quiet!” 

The old fat man, who was none other than 
Jim’s grandfather, walked out and at the same 
time said: “I understand that Jim was to mar- 
ry this lady and that a certain minister and doc- 
tor circulated the news that Jim was white, 
and that they prejudiced the mind of the girl 
against the young man and stole her heart. I 
am the grandfather of Jim, and while I am 
bright, I am not white, I am only a Creole. 
My wife was black. I had two sons : Theo., 
who was very fair, and Dimmy, who took after 
his mother and was very dark. I am a French 
General and my son Theo. was more particu- 
larly known as Captain Theo. Unoman. He 
died in this town twenty-one years ago.” 

The preacher trembled. The doctor in a 
cool and deliberate voice, said: “General, 
where is your proof?” 

The old man turned around and said : “Doc- 
tor Blair.” 

The old man on the front seat walked out. 

“Do you know me?” 

“I do,” said Doctor Blair. 


190 J. Johnson; or ‘'The Unknown Man' 


^‘Give the facts.” 

Doctor Blair: “Before I begin, I want all 
the folks who are here that remember me when 
I was in business in this town to stand.” 

A dozen or more stood. 

“All right; I am known. I will say I at- 
tended Captain Unoman and wife, was present 
at his death, and was also present when Jim 
was born. I heard the father’s will and saw 
Dimmy leave with the child. Saw him many 
times afterward and inquired after the family. 
Judge, do you remember?” 

The Judge stepped forward and said : “I do. 
I executed the will. I know Jim. We all 
know that he is a Negro and one of which we 
are proud, and if he keeps on, the world will 
be proud of him, for such men like him are 
Unknown.” 

Then Susie’s mother walked out and shook 
her head: “Well,” said she, “What all this 
got to do wid de weddin’?” 

As the different witnesses testified Susie’s 
face sparkled with joy and tears ran down her 
cheek. The minister stood there like a mon- 
ument. 



Page 191 




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/. Johnson; or ‘‘The Unknown Man' 


191 


A rustle was heard in the amen corner of 
the church and a big chunky dark fellow with 
a red bandana about his neck and with a jug 
in each hand, walked out, making his way to 
the altar. It was the Unknown Man. As he 
approached the altar the doctor felt for his hip 
pocket, but Susie caught the hand. The doc- 
tor grew ashy and fell back on the altar. The 
preacher caught the eye of the man, saw the 
jugs and red bandana about his neck. He 
dropped his book, threw his hands to his head 
and fell to the floor. By that time, a little Mu- 
latto woman, whom some thought was white, 
said: “I am Jim’s mother; he is not white!” 

Then the young white man pushed from his 
seat and as he did so the white separation rib- 
bon broke. He pulled the red mustache from 
his lip and the Shakespeare wig from his head 
and tossed them to the floor, and at the same 
time saying: “I am Jim! Doctor Jones, do 
you know me? I am not white nor gone to 
Europe — still with my race.” 

Susie saw him. She leaped to Jim and 
threw her arms about his neck and shouted: 
“Oh! Jim, are you here? Do my eyes behold 


192 /. Johnson; or '^The Unknown Man"' 


you? You look like King Solomon! I love 
you! I adore you! — ” Then her words were 
only tears, every drop of which said: “Love! 
Love! Love!” 

Jim had his arms about her. The mother of 
Susie fell in the doctor’s arms and Uncle Jonah 
threw his arms around Aunt Jane. The girl 
in pink ran over to where the preacher was, 
picked up his book and as she did so she said : 
“It was no fault of yours.” The preacher 
stood up and she put her arms about his neck. 
The judge winked as he looked at Doctor 
Blair and said: “It looks like four couples.” 

Then Uncle Jonah said: “Marry us all, 
Judge.” 

That night Jim proved his racial identity, 
took for his wife Susie, his love, and four 
couples were married at Bowser, and instead 
of the preacher officiating, the Judge per- 
formed the ceremony. 


THE END. 


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